LIBRARY 

UNlVtRSITT  O* 


LIBRAtY 


Olfc  Cfiau.s'r  C&ttion 

THE    COMPLETE   WRITINGS    OF 
NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE 

WITH   PORTRAITS,   ILLUSTRATIONS,   AND   FACSIMILES 

IN   TWENTY-TWO    VOLUMES 
VOLUME   XIV 


TILE 


THE 

DOLLIVER   ROMANCE 

AND  KINDRED  TALES 

BY 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

(1 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

prcji?  CambriDge 


COPYRIGHT,    1864,   BY  TICKNOR  &  FIELDS 

COPYRIGHT,    iSjI    AND    1876,   BY  JAMES  R.   OSGOOD  &  CO. 

COPYRIGHT,    1882,    1899,    I9II,   AND 

BY  ROSE  HAWTHORNE   LATHROP 

COPYRIGHT,    1883,    I9OO,  AND    1904, 

BY  HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


;  9/3 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY    NOTE         .....  ix 

THE    DOLLIVER    ROMANCE 

A    SCENE    FROM    THE    DOLLIVER    ROMANCE           .  I 
ANOTHER  SCENE  FROM  THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE  25 
ANOTHER     FRAGMENT    OF    THE    DOLLIVER    RO 
MANCE    .......  41 

SEPTIMIUS    FELTON  ;    OR,  THE  ELIXIR  OF  LIFE        69 
APPENDIX:  THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP;  OUTLINES 

OF  AN  ENGLISH  ROMANCE         .         .         .3*9 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACK 

BROODING  IN  HIS  STUDY  (page  85)  A.  I.  Keller 

Frontispiece 

VIGNETTE  ON  ENGRAVED  TITLE-PAGE  :  HE  AND 
His  DEAD  WERE  ALONE  (page  ill)  A.  I.  Keller 
GREAT-GRANDPAPA  AND  PANSIE    E.  Boyd  Smith       12 
"WHAT  HAVE  YOU  DONE?"    .     A.  1.  Keller    .     322 

HlS  HAND  ON  THE  SLENDER  ARM      A.  I.   Keller     .       358 
u  Is    YOUR    FRIEND    ILL  ?  "       .       .       A.  I.  Keller     .       384 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE 

THE  order  preserved  in  this  volume  is  not 
the  order  of  time.  The  Dolliver  Romance,  a 
fragment,  was  the  latest  of  Hawthorne's  writ 
ings,  and  this  unfinished  tale  was  laid  on  his 
coffin  when  it  was  in  the  church  before  burial ; 
but  it  represents  the  final  form  taken  by  an  idea 
which  for  years  had  been  haunting  the  author's 
brain.  It  would  be  strange  indeed  if  one  who 
brooded,  as  Hawthorne  did,  over  the  great 
mysteries  of  life  and  death  should  have  been 
incurious  respecting  the  greatest  of  all  myste 
ries  of  human  nature,  that  which  concerns  the 
perpetuity  of  life  itself.  "  Dr.  Heidegger's  Ex 
periment  "  and  "  The  Virtuoso's  Collection  " 
illustrate  the  manner  in  which  he  dwelt  on  the 
thought,  and  his  journals  contain  entries  which 
point  in  the  same  direction,  as  when  after  a 
lovely  warm  Sunday  in  September,  1843,  ne 
writes  :  "  Such  a  day  is  the  promise  of  a  blissful 
eternity.  Our  Creator  would  never  have  made 
such  weather,  and  given  us  the  deep  heart  to 
enjoy  it,  above  and  beyond  all  thought,  if  he 
had  not  meant  us  to  be  immortal  ; "  and  again 
in  his  English  journal :  "  God  himself  cannot 

ix 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

compensate  us  for  being  born  for  any  period 
short  of  eternity.  All  the  misery  endured  here 
constitutes  a  claim  for  another  life,  and  still  more 
all  the  happiness  ;  because  all  true  happiness  in 
volves  something  more  than  the  earth  owns, 
and  needs  something  more  than  a  mortal  capa 
city  for  the  enjoyment  of  it." 

Mingling  with  this  illustration  of  the  theme 
of  immortality  was  the  grim  fancy  of  a  bloody 
footprint  upon  the  threshold.  In  1850  he  had 
jotted  down  in  his  Note-Book  the  suggestion : 
"  The  print  in  blood  of  a  naked  foot  to  be 
traced  through  the  street  of  a  town."  It  is  not 
likely  that  Hawthorne  forgot  this  notion  when, 
in  1855,  he  heard  in  England  at  Smithell's  Hall 
the  legend  which  he  thus  set  down. 

"  The  peculiarity  of  this  house  is  what  is 
called  c  The  Bloody  Footstep.'  In  the  time 
of  Bloody  Mary,  a  Protestant  clergyman  — 
George  Marsh,  by  name  —  was  examined  be 
fore  the  then  proprietor  of  the  Hall,  Sir  Roger 
Barton,  I  think,  and  committed  to  prison  for 
his  heretical  opinions,  and  was  ultimately  burned 
at  the  stake.  As  his  guards  were  conducting 
him  from  the  justice  room,  through  the  stone- 
paved  passage  that  leads  from  front  to  rear  of 
Smithell's  Hall,  he  stamped  his  foot  upon  one 
of  the  flagstones  in  earnest  protestation  against 
the  wrong  which  he  was  undergoing.  The  foot, 
as  some  say,  left  a  bloody  mark  in  the  stone ; 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

others  have  it,  that  the  stone  yielded  like  wax 
under  his  foot,  and  that  there  has  been  a  shallow 
cavity  ever  since.  This  miraculous  footprint 

is  still  extant ;  and  Mrs. showed  it  to  me 

before  her  husband  took  me  round  the  estate. 
It  is  almost  at  the  threshold  of  the  door  open 
ing  from  the  rear  of  the  house,  a  stone  two  or 
three  feet  square,  set  among  similar  ones,  that 
seem  to  have  been  worn  by  the  tread  of  many 
generations.  The  footprint  is  a  dark  brown 
stain  in  the  smooth  gray  surface  of  the  flagstone ; 
and,  looking  sidelong  at  it,  there  is  a  shallow 

cavity  perceptible,  which  Mrs. accounted 

for  as  having  been  worn  by  people  setting  their 
feet  just  on  this  place,  so  as  to  tread  the  very 
spot  where  the  martyr  wrought  the  miracle. 
The  mark  is  longer  than  any  mortal  foot,  as  if 
caused  by  sliding  along  the  stone,  rather  than 
sinking  into  it;  and  it  might  be  supposed  to 
have  been  made  by  a  pointed  shoe,  being  blunt 
at  the  heel,  and  decreasing  towards  the  toe. 
The  blood-stained  version  of  the  story  is  more 
consistent  with  the  appearance  of  the  mark  than 
the  imprint  would  be  ;  for  if  the  martyr's  blood 
oozed  out  through  his  shoe  and  stocking,  it 
might  have  made  his  foot  slide  along  the  stone, 
and  thus  have  lengthened  the  shape.  Of  course 
it  is  all  a  humbug,  —  a  darker  vein  cropping 
up  through  the  gray  flagstone ;  but  it  is  probably 
a  fact,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  may  be  found  in 

xi 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,  that  George  Marsh 
underwent  an  examination  in  this  house ;  and 
the  tradition  may  have  connected  itself  with  the 
stone  within  a  short  time  after  the  martyrdom ; 
or,  perhaps,  when  the  old  persecuting  knight 
departed  this  life,  and  Bloody  Mary  was  also 
dead,  people  who  had  stood  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  Hall  door,  and  had  seen  George 
Marsh  lift  his  hand  and  stamp  his  foot  just  at 
this  spot,  —  perhaps  they  remembered  this  ac 
tion  and  gesture,  and  really  believed  that  Provi 
dence  had  thus  made  an  indelible  record  of  it  on 
the  stone  ;  although  the  very  stone  and  the  very 
mark  might  have  lain  there  at  the  threshold 
hundreds  of  years  before.  But,  even  if  it  had 
been  always  there,  the  footprint  might,  after  the 
fact,  be  looked  upon  as  a  prophecy,  from  the 
time  when  the  foundation  of  the  old  house  was 
laid,  that  a  holy  and  persecuted  man  should  one 
day  set  his  foot  here,  on  the  way  that  was  to 
lead  him  to  the  stake.  At  any  rate,  the  legend 
is  a  good  one." 

In  1 8 58,  just  before  leaving  England  for  the 
continent,  he  began  to  sketch  the  outline  of  a 
romance,  based  upon  the  attempt  of  an  Ameri 
can  to  lay  claim  to  an  estate  in  England,  the 
manor  house  of  which  was  marked  in  this  way. 
He  did  not  foresee  that  the  subject  would  be 
pushed  aside  by  the  more  insistent  story  of  The 
Marble  Faun,  and  he  made  notes  from  time  to 

xii 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

time  before  he  abandoned  the  project,  and  these 
notes  are  reprinted  in  the  present  volume  as  an 
appendix,  under  the  title  The  Ancestral  Foot 
step. 

The  dates  prefixed  to  the  several  passages 
indicate  the  progress  he  made  in  this  outline  ; 
they  show  also  that  though  he  was  pretty  indus 
trious,  he  gave  himself  to  the  task  only  for  about 
six  weeks.  Then,  undoubtedly,  his  new  inter 
ests  and  observations  swallowed  him  up  to  the 
neglect  of  this  venture.  "Although,"  as  Mr. 
Lathrop  says,  "  the  sketch  is  cast  in  the  form 
of  a  regular  narrative,  one  or  two  gaps  occur, 
indicating  that  the  author  had  thought  out  cer 
tain  points  which  he  then  took  for  granted  with 
out  making  note  of  them.  Brief  scenes,  pas 
sages  of  conversation  and  of  narration,  follow 
one  another  after  the  manner  of  a  finished  story, 
alternating  with  synopses  of  the  plot,  and  que 
ries  concerning  particulars  that  needed  further 
study ;  confidences  of  the  romancer  to  himself 
which  form  certainly  a  valuable  contribution  to 
literary  history.  The  manuscript  closes  with  a 
rapid  sketch  of  the  conclusion,  and  the  way  in 
which  it  is  to  be  executed.  Succinctly,  what  we 
have  here  is  a  romance  in  embryo  ;  one,  more 
over,  that  never  attained  to  a  viable  stature  and 
constitution." 

It  was  not  till  his  return  to  America  in  1861 
that  Hawthorne  once  more  resumed  the  theme, 
xiii 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

He  was  writing  in  his  home,  "  The  Wayside," 
at  Concord,  and  recalled  no  doubt  what  he  had 
himself  written  to  G.  W.  Curtis  in  1852  :  "I 
know  nothing  of  the  history  of  the  house,  ex 
cept  Thoreau's  telling  me  that  it  was  inhabited 
a  generation  ago  by  a  man  who  believed  he 
should  never  die."  Some  time  between  the  re 
turn  to  America  and  the  end  of  1863  ne  na^ 
made  two  drafts  of  an  attempted  romance,  one, 
Dr.  Grimshawe  s  Secret^  edited  by  his  son  Ju 
lian  in  1882,  the  other  Septimius  Felton,  recov 
ered  by  his  daughter  Una,  and  printed  as  a  serial 
in  The  Atlantic  Monthly  in  1872,  carrying  with 
it,  when  published  in  book  form,  the  following 
prefatory  note,  signed  by  Una  Hawthorne. 

"The  following  story  is  the  last  written  by 
my  father.  It  is  printed  as  it  was  found  among 
his  manuscripts.  I  believe  it  is  a  striking  speci 
men  of  the  peculiarities  and  charm  of  his  style, 
and  that  it  will  have  an  added  interest  for  bro 
ther  artists,  and  for  those  who  care  to  study  the 
method  of  his  composition,  from  the  mere  fact 
of  its  not  having  received  his  final  revision.  In 
any  case,  I  feel  sure  that  the  retention  of  the 
passages  within  brackets  (e.g.  p.  101),  which 
show  how  my  father  intended  to  amplify  some 
of  the  descriptions  and  develop  more  fully  one 
or  two  of  the  character  studies,  will  not  be  re 
gretted  by  appreciative  readers.  My  earnest 
thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  Robert  Browning  for  his 
xiv 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

kind  assistance  and  advice  in  interpreting  the 
manuscript,  otherwise  so  difficult  to  me." 

Neither  of  these  romances,  Septimius  Felton 
nor  Dr.  Grimshawis  Secret^  had  satisfied  Haw 
thorne  sufficiently  to  justify  him  in  giving  them 
to  the  world,  and  he  made  a  fresh  start,  though 
at  a  time  when  half  aware  of  it  himself,  he  was 
slipping  down  the  final  earthly  way.  The  Do/li 
ver  Romance  therefore  made  slow  progress,  and 
somewhat  against  his  better  judgment,  he  con 
sented  to  an  arrangement  by  which  it  should 
be  published  serially  in  The  Atlantic.  He  wrote 
to  Mr.  Fields,  the  editor  of  the  magazine  :  — 

"  I  don't  see  much  probability  of  my  having 
the  first  chapter  of  the  Romance  ready  so  soon 
as  you  want  it.  There  are  two  or  three  chap 
ters  ready  to  be  written,  but  I  am  not  yet  robust 
enough  to  begin,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  never 
carry  it  through." 

The  presentiment  proved  to  be  only  too  well 
founded.  He  had  previously  written  :  — 

"  There  is  something  preternatural  in  my  re 
luctance  to  begin.  I  linger  at  the  threshold, 
and  have  a  perception  of  very  disagreeable 
phantasms  to  be  encountered  if  I  enter.  I  wish 
God  had  given  me  the  faculty  of  writing  a  sun 
shiny  book." 

And  again,  in  November,  he  says  :  "  I  fore 
see  that  there  is  little  probability  of  my  getting 
the  first  chapter  ready  by  the  ifth,  although  I 

xv 


THE  DOLL1VER  ROMANCE 

have  a  resolute  purpose  to  write  it  by  the  end 
of  the  month."  He  did  indeed  send  it  by  that 
time,  but  it  began  to  be  apparent  in  January 
that  he  could  not  go  on. 

"  Seriously,"  he  says,  in  one  letter,  "  my 
mind  has,  for  the  present,  lost  its  temper  and 
its  fine  edge,  and  I  have  an  instinct  that  I  had 
better  keep  quiet.  Perhaps  I  shall  have  a  new 
spirit  of  vigor  if  I  wait  quietly  for  it ;  perhaps 
not."  In  another:  "I  hardly  know  what  to 
say  to  the  public  about  this  abortive  Romance, 
though  I  know  pretty  well  what  the  case  will 
be.  I  shall  never  finish  it.  ...  I  cannot  finish 
it  unless  a  great  change  comes  over  me ;  and  if 
I  make  too  great  an  effort  to  do  so,  it  will  be 
my  death." 

Hawthorne  died  in  the  night  between  the 
1 8th  and  I9th  of  May,  1864.  The  first  chap 
ter  of  The  Do/liver  Romance  was  published  in  The 
Atlantic  for  July  of  that  year,  and  "  Another 
Scene  from  the  Dolliver  Romance  "  in  Janu 
ary,  1865.  The  third  fragment  which  follows 
in  this  reissue  is  separated  by  a  gap  which  there 
is  no  means  of  filling.  Mr.  Lathrop  tells  us  : 

"  Hawthorne  had  purposed  prefixing  a  sketch 
of  Thoreau,  £  because,  from  a  tradition  which  he 
told  me  about  this  house  of  mine,  I  got  the 
idea  of  a  deathless  man,  which  is  now  taking  a 
shape  very  different  from  the  original  one/  .  .  . 
With  the  plan  respecting  Thoreau  he  combined 
xvi 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

the  idea  of  writing  an  autobiographical  preface, 
wherein  The  Wayside  was  to  be  described,  after 
the  manner  of  his  Introduction  to  the  Mosses 
from  an  Old  Manse ;  but,  so  far  as  is  known, 
nothing  of  this  was  ever  actually  committed  to 
paper." 

xvii 


THE   DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

A    SCENE    FROM    THE    DOLLIVER 
ROMANCE 

DR.  DOLLIVER,  a  worthy  personage  of 
extreme  antiquity,  was  aroused  rather 
prematurely,  one  summer  morning,  by 
the  shouts  of  the  child  Pansie,  in  an  adjoining 
chamber,  summoning  old  Martha  (who  per 
formed  the  duties  of  nurse,  housekeeper,  and 
kitchen  maid,  in  the  Doctor's  establishment)  to 
take  up  her  little  ladyship  and  dress  her.  The 
old  gentleman  woke  with  more  than  his  custom 
ary  alacrity,  and,  after  taking  a  moment  to  gather 
his  wits  about  him,  pulled  aside  the  faded  mo 
reen  curtains  of  his  ancient  bed,  and  thrust  his 
head  into  a  beam  of  sunshine  that  caused  him 
to  wink  and  withdraw  it  again.  This  transitory 
glimpse  of  good  Dr.  Dolliver  showed  a  flannel 
nightcap,  fringed  round  with  stray  locks  of  sil 
very  white  hair,  and  surmounting  a  meagre  and 
duskily  yellow  visage,  which  was  crossed  and 
crisscrossed  with  a  record  of  his  long  life  in 
wrinkles,  faithfully  written,  no  doubt,  but  with 
such  cramped  chirography  of  Father  Time  that 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

the  purport  was  illegible.  It  seemed  hardly 
worth  while  for  the  patriarch  to  get  out  of  bed 
any  more,  and  bring  his  forlorn  shadow  into  the 
summer  day  that  was  made  for  younger  folks. 
The  Doctor,  however,  was  by  no  means  of  that 
opinion,  being  considerably  encouraged  towards 
the  toil  of  living  twenty-four  hours  longer  by  the 
comparative  ease  with  which  he  found  himself 
going  through  the  usually  painful  process  of  be 
stirring  his  rusty  joints  (stiffened  by  the  very  rest 
and  sleep  that  should  have  made  them  pliable) 
and  putting  them  in  a  condition  to  bear  his 
weight  upon  the  floor.  Nor  was  he  absolutely 
disheartened  by  the  idea  of  those  tonsorial,  ablu- 
tionary,  and  personally  decorative  labors  which 
are  apt  to  become  so  intolerably  irksome  to  an 
old  gentleman,  after  performing  them  daily  and 
daily  for  fifty,  sixty,  or  seventy  years,  and  finding 
them  still  as  immitigably  recurrent  as  at  first. 
Dr.  Dolliver  could  nowise  account  for  this  happy 
condition  of  his  spirits  and  physical  energies, 
until  he  remembered  taking  an  experimental  sip 
of  a  certain  cordial  which  was  long  ago  prepared 
by  his  grandson,  and  carefully  sealed  up  in  a 
bottle,  and  had  been  reposited  in  a  dark  closet, 
among  a  parcel  of  effete  medicines,  ever  since 
that  gifted  young  man's  death. 

"It  may  have  wrought  effect  upon  me," 
thought  the  Doctor,  shaking  his  head  as  he  lifted 
it  again  from  the  pillow.  "It  may  be  so ;  for 

2 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

poor  Edward  oftentimes  instilled  a  strange  effi 
cacy  into  his  perilous  drugs.  But  I  will  rather 
believe  it  to  be  the  operation  of  God's  mercy, 
which  may  have  temporarily  invigorated  my  fee 
ble  age  for  little  Pansie's  sake.'* 

A  twinge  of  his  familiar  rheumatism,  as  he  put 
his  foot  out  of  bed,  taught  him  that  he  must  not 
reckon  too  confidently  upon  even  a  day's  respite 
from  the  intrusive  family  of  aches  and  infirmi 
ties,  which,  with  their  proverbial  fidelity  to  at 
tachments  once  formed,  had  long  been  the  clos 
est  acquaintances  that  the  poor  old  gentleman 
had  in  the  world.  Nevertheless,  he  fancied  the 
twinge  a  little  less  poignant  than  those  of  yester 
day  ;  and,  moreover,  after  stinging  him  pretty 
smartly,  it  passed  gradually  off  with  a  thrill, 
which,  in  its  latter  stages,  grew  to  be  almost 
agreeable.  Pain  is  but  pleasure  too  strongly 
emphasized.  With  cautious  movements,  and 
only  a  groan  or  two,  the  good  Doctor  transferred 
himself  from  the  bed  to  the  floor,  where  he  stood 
awhile,  gazing  from  one  piece  of  quaint  furni 
ture  to  another  (such  as  stiff-backed  Mayflower 
chairs,  an  oaken  chest  of  drawers  carved  cun 
ningly  with  shapes  of  animals  and  wreaths  of 
foliage,  a  table  with  multitudinous  legs,  a  family 
record  in  faded  embroidery,  a  shelf  of  black- 
bound  books,  a  dirty  heap  of  gallipots  and  phials 
in  a  dim  corner),  —  gazing  at  these  things,  and 
steadying  himself  by  the  bedpost,  while  his  inert 

3 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

brain,  still  partially  benumbed  with  sleep,  came 
slowly  into  accordance  with  the  realities  about 
him.  The  object  which  most  helped  to  bring 
Dr.  Dolliver  completely  to  his  waking  percep 
tions  was  one  that  common  observers  might  sup 
pose  to  have  been  snatched  bodily  out  of  his 
dreams.  The  same  sunbeam  that  had  dazzled 
the  Doctor  between  the  bed  curtains  gleamed 
on  the  weather-beaten  gilding  which  had  once 
adorned  this  mysterious  symbol,  and  showed  it 
to  be  an  enormous  serpent,  twining  round  a 
wooden  post,  and  reaching  quite  from  the  floor 
of  the  chamber  to  its  ceiling. 

It  was  evidently  a  thing  that  could  boast  of 
considerable  antiquity,  the  dry  rot  having  eaten 
out  its  eyes  and  gnawed  away  the  tip  of  its  tail ; 
and  it  must  have  stood  long  exposed  to  the  at 
mosphere,  for  a  kind  of  gray  moss  had  partially 
overspread  its  tarnished  gilt  surface,  and  a  swal 
low,  or  other  familiar  little  bird,  in  some  by 
gone  summer,  seemed  to  have  built  its  nest  in 
the  yawning  and  exaggerated  mouth.  It  looked 
like  a  kind  of  Manichean  idol,  which  might 
have  been  elevated  on  a  pedestal  for  a  century 
or  so,  enjoying  the  worship  of  its  votaries  in  the 
open  air,  until  the  impious  sect  perished  from 
among  men,  —  all  save  old  Dr.  Dolliver,  who 
had  setup  the  monster  in  his  bedchamber  for  the 
convenience  of  private  devotion.  But  we  are 
unpardonable  in  suggesting  such  a  fantasy  to 

4 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

the  prejudice  of  our  venerable  friend,  knowing 
him  to  have  been  as  pious  and  upright  a  Chris 
tian,  and  with  as  little  of  the  serpent  in  his  char 
acter,  as  ever  came  of  Puritan  lineage.  Not  to 
make  a  further  mystery  about  a  very  simple 
matter,  this  bedimmed  and  rotten  reptile  was 
once  the  medical  emblem  or  apothecary's  sign 
of  the  famous  Dr.  Swinnerton,  who  practised 
physic  in  the  earlier  days  of  New  England,  when 
a  head  of  ^sculapius  or  Hippocrates  would 
have  vexed  the  souls  of  the  righteous  as  savor 
ing  of  heathendom.  The  ancient  dispenser  of 
drugs  had  therefore  set  up  an  image  of  the 
Brazen  Serpent,  and  followed  his  business  for 
many  years  with  great  credit,  under  this  Scrip 
tural  device;  and  Dr.  Dolliver,  being  the  ap 
prentice,  pupil,  and  humble  friend  of  the  learned 
Swinnerton's  old  age,  had  inherited  the  sym 
bolic  snake  and  much  other  valuable  property 
by  his  bequest. 

While  the  patriarch  was  putting  on  his  small 
clothes,  he  took  care  to  stand  in  the  parallelo 
gram  of  bright  sunshine  that  fell  upon  the  un- 
carpeted  floor.  The  summer  warmth  was  very 
genial  to  his  system,  and  yet  made  him  shiver ; 
his  wintry  veins  rejoiced  at  it,  though  the  reviv 
ing  blood  tingled  through  them  with  a  half- 
painful  and  only  half-pleasurable  titillation.  For 
the  first  few  moments  after  creeping  out  of  bed,  he 
kept  his  back  to  the  sunny  window,  and  seemed 

5 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

mysteriously  shy  of  glancing  thitherward  ;  but, 
as  the  June  fervor  pervaded  him  more  and 
more  thoroughly,  he  turned  bravely  about,  and 
looked  forth  at  a  burial  ground  on  the  corner  of 
which  he  dwelt.  There  lay  many  an  old  ac 
quaintance,  who  had  gone  to  sleep  with  the  fla 
vor  of  Dr.  Dolliver's  tinctures  and  powders  upon 
his  tongue  ;  it  was  the  patient's  final  bitter  taste 
of  this  world,  and  perhaps  doomed  to  be  a  re 
collected  nauseousness  in  the  next.  Yesterday, 
in  the  chill  of  his  forlorn  old  age,  the  Doctor 
expected  soon  to  stretch  out  his  weary  bones 
among  that  quiet  community,  and  might  scarcely 
have  shrunk  from  the  prospect  on  his  own  ac 
count,  except,  indeed,  that  he  dreamily  mixed 
up  the  infirmities  of  his  present  condition  with 
the  repose  of  the  approaching  one,  being  haunted 
by  a  notion  that  the  damp  earth,  under  the  grass 
and  dandelions,  must  needs  be  pernicious  for 
his  cough  and  his  rheumatism.  But,  this  morn 
ing,  the  cheerful  sunbeams,  or  the  mere  taste  of 
his  grandson's  cordial  that  he  had  taken  at  bed 
time,  or  the  fitful  vigor  that  often  sports  irre 
verently  with  aged  people,  had  caused  an  un 
frozen  drop  of  youthfulness,  somewhere  within 
him,  to  expand. 

"  Hem  !  ahem  !  "  quoth  the  Doctor,  hoping 
with  one  effort  to  clear  his  throat  of  the  dregs 
of  a  ten  years'  cough.  "  Matters  are  not  so  far 
gone  with  me  as  I  thought.  I  have  known 

6 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

mighty  sensible  men,  when  only  a  little  age< 
stricken  or  otherwise  out  of  sorts,  to  die  of  mere 
faint-heartedness,  a  great  deal  sooner  than  they 
need." 

He  shook  his  silvery  head  at  his  own  image 
in  the  looking-glass,  as  if  to  impress  the  apo 
thegm  on  that  shadowy  representative  of  him 
self;  and,  for  his  part,  he  determined  to  pluck 
up  a  spirit  and  live  as  long  as  he  possibly  could, 
if  it  were  only  for  the  sake  of  little  Pansie,  who 
stood  as  close  to  one  extremity  of  human  life 
as  her  great-grandfather  to  the  other.  This  child 
of  three  years  old  occupied  all  the  unfossilized 
portion  of  Dr.  Dolliver's  heart.  Every  other 
interest  that  he  formerly  had,  and  the  entire 
confraternity  of  persons  whom  he  once  loved, 
had  long  ago  departed  ;  and  the  poor  Doctor 
could  not  follow  them,  because  the  grasp  of 
Pansie's  baby  ringers  held  him  back. 

So  he  crammed  a  great  silver  watch  into  his 
fob,  and  drew  on  a  patchwork  morning  gown  of 
an  ancient  fashion.  Its  original  material  was  said 
to  have  been  the  embroidered  front  of  his  own 
wedding  waistcoat  and  the  silken  skirt  of  his 
wife's  bridal  attire,  which  his  eldest  granddaugh 
ter  had  taken  from  the  carved  chest  of  drawers, 
after  poor  Bessie,  the  beloved  of  his  youth,  had 
been  half  a  century  in  the  grave.  Throughout 
many  of  the  intervening  years,  as  the  garment 
got  ragged,  the  spinsters  of  the  old  man's  family 

7 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

had  quilted  their  duty  and  affection  into  it  in 
the  shape  of  patches  upon  patches,  rose  color, 
crimson,  blue,  violet,  and  green,  and  then  (as 
their  hopes  faded,  and  their  life  kept  growing 
shadier,  and  their  attire  took  a  sombre  hue) 
sober  gray  and  great  fragments  of  funereal  black, 
until  the  Doctor  could  revive  the  memory  of 
most  things  that  had  befallen  him  by  looking 
at  his  patchwork  gown,  as  it  hung  upon  a  chair. 
And  now  it  was  ragged  again,  and  all  the  fingers 
that  should  have  mended  it  were  cold.  It  had 
an  Eastern  fragrance,  too,  a  smell  of  drugs, 
strong-scented  herbs,  and  spicy  gums,  gathered 
from  the  many  potent  infusions  that  had  from 
time  to  time  been  spilt  over  it ;  so  that,  snuffing 
him  afar  off,  you  might  have  taken  Dr.  Dolliver 
for  a  mummy,  and  could  hardly  have  been  un 
deceived  by  his  shrunken  and  torpid  aspect,  as 
he  crept  nearer. 

Wrapt  in  his  odorous  and  many-colored  robe, 
he  took  staff  in  hand,  and  moved  pretty  vigor 
ously  to  the  head  of  the  staircase.  As  it  was 
somewhat  steep,  and  but  dimly  lighted,  he  began 
cautiously  to  descend,  putting  his  left  hand  on 
the  banister,  and  poking  down  his  long  stick  to 
assist  him  in  making  sure  of  the  successive 
steps ;  and  thus  he  became  a  living  illustration 
of  the  accuracy  of  Scripture,  where  it  describes 
the  aged  as  being  "  afraid  of  that  which  is  high/' 
—  a  truth  that  is  often  found  to  have  a  sadder 

8 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

purport  than  its  external  one.  Halfway  to  the 
bottom,  however,  the  Doctor  heard  the  impa 
tient  and  authoritative  tones  of  little  Pansie  — 
Queen  Pansie,  as  she  might  fairly  have  been 
styled,  in  reference  to  her  position  in  the  house 
hold —  calling  amain  for  grandpapa  and  break 
fast.  He  was  startled  into  such  perilous  activity 
by  the  summons  that  his  heels  slid  on  the  stairs, 
the  slippers  were  shuffled  off  his  feet,  and  he 
saved  himself  from  a  tumble  only  by  quickening 
his  pace  and  coming  down  at  almost  a  run. 

"  Mercy  on  my  poor  old  bones  !  "  mentally 
exclaimed  the  Doctor,  fancying  himself  fractured 
in  fifty  places.  "  Some  of  them  are  broken, 
surely,  and,  methinks,  my  heart  has  leaped  out 
of  my  mouth  !  What !  all  right  ?  Well,  well ! 
but  Providence  is  kinder  to  me  than  I  deserve, 
prancing  down  this  steep  staircase  like  a  kid  of 
three  months  old  !  " 

He  bent  stiffly  to  gather  up  his  slippers  and 
fallen  staff;  and  meanwhile  Pansie  had  heard  the 
tumult  of  her  great-grandfather's  descent,  and 
was  pounding  against  the  door  of  the  breakfast 
room  in  her  haste  to  come  at  him.  The  Doctor 
opened  it,  and  there  she  stood,  a  rather  pale  and 
large-eyed  little  thing,  quaint  in  her  aspect,  as 
might  well  be  the  case  with  a  motherless  child, 
dwelling  in  an  uncheerful  house,  with  no  other 
playmates  than  a  decrepit  old  man  and  a  kitten, 
and  no  better  atmosphere  within  doors  than  the 

9 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

odor  of  decayed  apothecary's  stuff,  nor  gayer 
neighborhood  than  that  of  the  adjacent  burial 
ground,  where  all  her  relatives,  from  her  great- 
grandmother  downward,  lay  calling  to  her, 
"  Pansie,  Pansie,  it  is  bedtime  !  "  even  in  the 
prime  of  the  summer  morning.  For  those  dead 
women  folk,  especially  her  mother  and  the 
whole  row  of  maiden  aunts  and  grandaunts, 
could  not  but  be  anxious  about  the  child,  know 
ing  that  little  Pansie  would  be  far  safer  under  a 
tuft  of  dandelions  than  if  left  alone,  as  she  soon 
must  be,  in  this  difficult  and  deceitful  world. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  the  lack  of  damask  roses  in 
her  cheeks,  she  seemed  a  healthy  child,  and  cer 
tainly  showed  great  capacity  of  energetic  move 
ment  in  the  impulsive  capers  with  which  she  wel 
comed  her  venerable  progenitor.  She  shouted 
out  her  satisfaction,  moreover  (as  her  custom 
was,  having  never  had  any  oversensitive  audi 
tors  about  her  to  tame  down  her  voice),  till  even 
the  Doctor's  dull  ears  were  full  of  the  clamor. 

"  Pansie,  darling,"  said  Dr.  Dolliver  cheerily, 
patting  her  brown  hair  with  his  tremulous  fin 
gers,  "  thou  hast  put  some  of  thine  own  friski- 
ness  into  poor  old  grandfather,  this  fine  morning ! 
Dost  know,  child,  that  he  came  near  breaking 
his  neck  downstairs  at  the  sound  of  thy  voice  ? 
What  wouldst  thou  have  done  then,  little 
Pansie?" 

"  Kiss  poor  grandpapa  and  make  him  well ! >; 
10 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

answered  the  child,  remembering  the  Doctor's 
own  mode  of  cure  in  similar  mishaps  to  herself. 
"  It  shall  do  poor  grandpapa  good  !  "  she  added, 
putting  up  her  mouth  to  apply  the  remedy. 

"  Ah,  little  one,  thou  hast  greater  faith  in  thy 
medicines  than  ever  I  had  in  mydrugs,"  replied 
the  patriarch,  with  a  giggle,  surprised  and  de 
lighted  at  his  own  readiness  of  response.  "  But 
the  kiss  is  good  for  my  feeble  old  heart,  Pansie, 
though  it  might  do  little  to  mend  a  broken 
neck  ;  so  give  grandpapa  another  dose,  and  let 
us  to  breakfast." 

In  this  merry  humor  they  sat  down  to  the 
table,  great-grandpapa  and  Pansie  side  by  side, 
and  the  kitten,  as  soon  appeared,  making  a  third 
in  the  party.  First,  she  showed  her  mottled 
head  out  of  Pansie's  lap,  delicately  sipping  milk 
from  the  child's  basin  without  rebuke  ;  then  she 
took  post  on  the  old  gentleman's  shoulder,  purr 
ing  like  a  spinning  wheel,  trying  her  claws  in 
the  wadding  of  his  dressing  gown,  and  still  more 
impressively  reminding  him  of  her  presence 
by  putting  out  a  paw  to  intercept  a  warmed- 
over  morsel  of  yesterday's  chicken  on  its  way  to 
the  Doctor's  mouth.  After  skilfully  achieving 
this  feat,  she  scrambled  down  upon  the  break 
fast  table  and  began  to  wash  her  face  and  hands. 
Evidently,  these  companions  were  all  three  on 
intimate  terms,  as  was  natural  enough,  since  a 
great  many  childish  impulses  were  softly  creep- 

n 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

ing  back  on  the  simple-minded  old  man  ;  inso 
much  that,  if  no  worldly  necessities  nor  painful 
infirmity  had  disturbed  him,  his  remnant  of  life 
might  have  been  as  cheaply  and  cheerily  enjoyed 
as  the  early  playtime  of  the  kitten  and  the  child. 
Old  Dr.  Dolliver  and  his  great-granddaughter 
(a  ponderous  title,  which  seemed  quite  to  over 
whelm  the  tiny  figure  of  Pansie)  had  met  one 
another  at  the  two  extremities  of  the  life  circle : 
her  sunrise  served  him  for  a  sunset,  illuminating 
his  locks  of  silver  and  hers  of  golden  brown 
with  a  homogeneous  shimmer  of  twinkling 
light. 

Little  Pansie  was  the  one  earthly  creature  that 
inherited  a  drop  of  the  Dolliver  blood.  The 
Doctor's  only  child,  poor  Bessie's  offspring,  had 
died  the  better  part  of  a  hundred  years  before, 
and  his  grandchildren,  a  numerous  and  dimly 
remembered  brood,  had  vanished  along  his 
weary  track  in  their  youth,  maturity,  or  incipient 
age,  till,  hardly  knowing  how  it  had  all  hap 
pened,  he  found  himself  tottering  onward  with 
an  infant's  small  fingers  in  his  nerveless  grasp. 
So  mistily  did  his  dead  progeny  come  and  go  in 
the  patriarch's  decayed  recollection,  that  this 
solitary  child  represented  for  him  the  successive 
babyhoods  of  the  many  that  had  gone  before. 
The  emotions  of  his  early  paternity  came  back 
to  him.  She  seemed  the  baby  of  a  past  age 
oftener  than  she  seemed  Pansie.  A  whole  family 

12 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

of  grandaunts  (one  of  whom  had  perished  in 
her  cradle,  never  so  mature  as  Pansie  now,  an 
other  in  her  virgin  bloom,  another  in  autumnal 
maidenhood,  yellow  and  shrivelled,  with  vin 
egar  in  her  blood,  and  still  another,  a  forlorn 
widow,  whose  grief  outlasted  even  its  vitality, 
and  grew  to  be  merely  a  torpid  habit,  and  was 
saddest  then),  —  all  their  hitherto  forgotten  fea 
tures  peeped  through  the  face  of  the  great 
grandchild,  and  their  long  inaudible  voices 
sobbed,  shouted,  or  laughed  in  her  familiar 
tones.  But  it  often  happened  to  Dr.  Dolliver, 
while  frolicking  amid  this  throng  of  ghosts, 
wrhere  the  one  reality  looked  no  more  vivid  than 
its  shadowy  sisters,  —  it  often  happened  that  his 
eyes  filled  with  tears  at  a  sudden  perception  of 
what  a  sad  and  poverty-stricken  old  man  he 
was,  already  remote  from  his  own  generation, 
and  bound  to  stray  further  onward  as  the  sole 
playmate  and  protector  of  a  child  ! 

As  Dr.  Dolliver,  in  spite  of  his  advanced 
epoch  of  life,  is  likely  to  remain  a  considerable 
time  longer  upon  our  hands,  we  deem  it  expedi 
ent  to  give  a  brief  sketch  of  his  position,  in  order 
that  the  story  may  get  onward  with  the  greater 
freedom  when  he  rises  from  the  breakfast  table. 
Deeming  it  a  matter  of  courtesy,  we  have  allowed 
him  the  honorary  title  of  Doctor,  as  did  all  his 
townspeople  and  contemporaries,  except,  per 
haps,  one  or  two  formal  old  physicians,  stingy 

'3 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

of  civil  phrases  and  overjealous  of  their  own 
professional  dignity.  Nevertheless,  these  crusty 
graduates  were  technically  right  in  excluding 
Dr.  Dolliver  from  their  fraternity.  He  had 
never  received  the  degree  of  any  medical  school, 
nor  (save  it  might  be  for  the  cure  of  a  tooth 
ache,  or  a  child's  rash,  or  a  whitlow  on  a  seam 
stress's  finger,  or  some  such  trifling  malady)  had 
he  ever  been  even  a  practitioner  of  the  awful 
science  with  which  his  popular  designation  con 
nected  him.  Our  old  friend,  in  short,  even  at  his 
highest  social  elevation,  claimed  to  be  nothing 
more  than  an  apothecary,  and,  in  these  later 
and  far  less  prosperous  days,  scarcely  so  much. 
Since  the  death  of  his  last  surviving  grandson 
(Pansie's  father,  whom  he  had  instructed  in  all 
the  mysteries  of  his  science,  and  who,  being  dis 
tinguished  by  an  experimental  and  inventive 
tendency,  was  generally  believed  to  have  poi 
soned  himself  with  an  infallible  panacea  of  his 
own  distillation),  —  since  that  final  bereavement, 
Dr.  Dolliver's  once  pretty  flourishing  business 
had  lamentably  declined.  After  a  few  months 
of  unavailing  struggle,  he  found  it  expedient  to 
take  down  the  Brazen  Serpent  from  the  position 
to  which  Dr.  Swinnerton  had  originally  elevated 
it,  in  front  of  his  shop  in  the  main  street,  and  to 
retire  to  his  private  dwelling,  situated  in  a  by- 
lane  and  on  the  edge  of  a  burial  ground. 

This  house,  as  well  as  the  Brazen  Serpent, 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

some  old  medical  books,  and  a  drawer  full  of 
manuscripts,  had  come  to  him  by  the  legacy  of 
Dr.  Swinnerton.  The  dreariness  of  the  locality 
had  been  of  small  importance  to  our  friend  in 
his  young  manhood,  when  he  first  led  his  fair 
wife  over  the  threshold,  and  so  long  as  neither 
of  them  had  any  kinship  with  the  human  dust 
that  rose  into  little  hillocks,  and  still  kept  ac 
cumulating  beneath  their  window.  But,  too 
soon  afterwards,  when  poor  Bessie  herself  had 
gone  early  to  rest  there,  it  is  probable  that  an 
influence  from  her  grave  may  have  prema 
turely  calmed  and  depressed  her  widowed  hus 
band,  taking  away  much  of  the  energy  from  what 
should  have  been  the  most  active  portion  of 
his  life.  Thus  he  never  grew  rich.  His  thrifty 
townsmen  used  to  tell  him,  that,  in  any  other 
man's  hands,  Dr.  Swinnerton's  Brazen  Serpent 
(meaning,  I  presume,  the  inherited  credit  and 
good  will  of  that  old  worthy's  trade)  would 
need  but  ten  years'  time  to  transmute  its  brass 
into  gold.  In  Dr.  Dolliver's  keeping,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  inauspicious  symbol  lost  the 
greater  part  of  what  superficial  gilding  it  origi 
nally  had.  Matters  had  not  mended  with  him 
in  more  advanced  life,  after  he  had  deposited  a 
further  and  further  portion  of  his  heart  and  its 
affections  in  each  successive  one  of  a  long  row 
of  kindred  graves  ;  and  as  he  stood  over  the 
last  of  them,  holding  Pansie  by  the  hand  and 

15 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

looking  down  upon  the  cofrin  of  his  grandson, 
it  is  no  wonder  that  the  old  man  wept,  partly  for 
those  gone  before,  but  not  so  bitterly  as  for  the 
little  one  that  stayed  behind.  Why  had  not 
God  taken  her  with  the  rest  ?  And  then,  so 
hopeless  as  he  was,  so  destitute  of  possibilities 
of  good,  his  weary  frame,  his  decrepit  bones, 
his  dried-up  heart,  might  have  crumbled  into 
dust  at  once,  and  have  been  scattered  by  the 
next  wind  over  all  the  heaps  of  earth  that  were 
akin  to  him. 

This  intensity  of  desolation,  however,  was  of 
too  positive  a  character  to  be  long  sustained  by 
a  person  of  Dr.  Dolliver's  original  gentleness 
and  simplicity,  and  now  so  completely  tamed 
by  age  and  misfortune.  Even  before  he  turned 
away  from  the  grave,  he  grew  conscious  of  a 
slightly  cheering  and  invigorating  effect  from 
the  tight  grasp  of  the  child's  warm  little  hand. 
Feeble  as  he  was,  she  seemed  to  adopt  him  will 
ingly  for  her  protector.  And  the  Doctor  never 
afterwards  shrank  from  his  duty  nor  quailed 
beneath  it,  but  bore  himself  like  a  man,  striving, 
amid  the  sloth  of  age  and  the  breaking  up  of 
intellect,  to  earn  the  competency  which  he  had 
failed  to  accumulate  even  in  his  most  vigorous 
days. 

To  the  extent  of  securing  a  present  sub 
sistence  for  Pansie  and  himself,  he  was  success 
ful.  After  his  son's  death,  when  the  Brazen 

16 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

Serpent  fell  into  popular  disrepute,  a  small 
share  of  tenacious  patronage  followed  the  old 
man  into  his  retirement.  In  his  prime,  he  had 
been  allowed  to  possess  more  skill  than  usu 
ally  fell  to  the  share  of  a  Colonial  apothecary, 
having  been  regularly  apprenticed  to  Dr.  Swin- 
nerton,  who,  throughout  his  long  practice,  was 
accustomed  personally  to  concoct  the  medi 
cines  which  he  prescribed  and  dispensed.  It 
was  believed,  indeed,  that  the  ancient  physician 
had  learned  the  art  at  the  world-famous  drug 
manufactory  of  Apothecary's  Hall,  in  London, 
and,  as  some  people  half  malignly  whispered, 
had  perfected  himself  under  masters  more  sub 
tle  than  were  to  be  found  even  there.  Unques 
tionably,  in  many  critical  cases  he  was  known 
to  have  employed  remedies  of  mysterious  com 
position  and  dangerous  potency,  which,  in  less 
skilful  hands,  would  have  been  more  likely  to 
kill  than  cure.  He  would  willingly,  it  is  said, 
have  taught  his  apprentice  the  secrets  of  these 
prescriptions,  but  the  latter,  being  of  a  timid 
character  and  delicate  conscience,  had  shrunk 
from  acquaintance  with  them.  It  was  probably 
as  the  result  of  the  same  scrupulosity  that  Dr. 
Dolliver  had  always  declined  to  enter  the  med 
ical  profession,  in  which  his  old  instructor  had 
set  him  such  heroic  examples  of  adventurous 
dealing  with  matters  of  life  and  death.  Never 
theless,  the  aromatic  fragrance,  so  to  speak,  of 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

the  learned  Swinnerton's  reputation  had  clung 
to  our  friend  through  life  ;  and  there  were  elab 
orate  preparations  in  the  pharmacopoeia  of  that 
day,  requiring  such  minute  skill  and  conscien 
tious  fidelity  in  the  concocter  that  the  physicians 
were  still  glad  to  confide  them  to  one  in  whom 
these  qualities  were  so  evident. 

Moreover,  the  grandmothers  of  the  commu 
nity  were  kind  to  him,  and  mindful  of  his 
perfumes,  his  rose  water,  his  cosmetics,  tooth 
powders,  pomanders,  and  pomades,  the  scented 
memory  of  which  lingered  about  their  toilet 
tables,  or  came  faintly  back  from  the  days  when 
they  were  beautiful.  Among  this  class  of  cus 
tomers  there  was  still  a  demand  for  certain 
comfortable  little  nostrums  (delicately  sweet 
and  pungent  to  the  taste,  cheering  to  the  spirits, 
and  fragrant  in  the  breath),  the  proper  distil 
lation  of  which  was  the  airiest  secret  that  the 
mystic  Swinnerton  had  left  behind  him.  And, 
besides,  these  old  ladies  had  always  liked  the 
manners  of  Dr.  Dolliver,  and  used  to  speak  of 
his  gentle  courtesy  behind  the  counter  as  hav 
ing  positively  been  something  to  admire  ;  though 
of  later  years,  an  unrefined  and  almost  rustic 
simplicity,  such  as  belonged  to  his  humble  an 
cestors,  appeared  to  have  taken  possession  of 
him,  as  it  often  does  of  prettily  mannered  men 
in  their  late  decay. 

But  it  resulted  from  all  these  favorable  circum- 
18 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

stances  that  the  Doctor's  marble  mortar,  though 
worn  with  long  service  and  considerably  dam 
aged  by  a  crack  that  pervaded  it,  continued  to 
keep  up  an  occasional  intimacy  with  the  pestle  ; 
and  he  still  weighed  drachms  and  scruples  in  his 
delicate  scales,  though  it  seemed  impossible, 
dealing  with  such  minute  quantities,  that  his 
tremulous  fingers  should  not  put  in  too  little  or 
too  much,  leaving  out  life  with  the  deficiency,  or 
spilling  in  death  with  the  surplus.  To  say  the 
truth,  his  stanchest  friends  were  beginning  to 
think  that  Dr.  Dolliver's  fits  of  absence  (when 
his  mind  appeared  absolutely  to  depart  from 
him,  while  his  frail  old  body  worked  on  mechan 
ically)  rendered  him  not  quite  trustworthy  with 
out  a  close  supervision  of  his  proceedings.  It 
was  impossible,  however,  to  convince  the  aged 
apothecary  of  the  necessity  for  such  vigilance; 
and  if  anything  could  stir  up  his  gentle  temper 
to  wrath,  or,  as  oftener  happened,  to  tears,  it  was 
the  attempt  (which  he  was  marvellously  quick 
to  detect)  thus  to  interfere  with  his  long  familiar 
business. 

The  public,  meanwhile,  ceasing  to  regard  Dr. 
Dolliver  in  his  professional  aspect,  had  begun  to 
take  an  interest  in  him  as  perhaps  their  oldest 
fellow  citizen.  It  was  he  that  remembered  the 
Great  Fire  and  the  Great  Snow,  and  that  had 
been  a  grown-up  stripling  at  the  terrible  epoch 
of  Witch  Times,  and  a  child  just  breeched  at 

19 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

the  breaking  out  of  King  Philip's  Indian  War. 
He,  too,  in  his  schoolboy  days,  had  received  a 
benediction  from  the  patriarchal  Governor  Brad- 
street,  and  thus  could  boast  (somewhat  as  Bish 
ops  do  of  their  unbroken  succession  from  the 
Apostles)  of  a  transmitted  blessing  from  the 
whole  company  of  sainted  Pilgrims,  among 
whom  the  venerable  magistrate  had  been  an  hon 
ored  companion.  Viewing  their  townsman  in 
this  respect,  the  people  revoked  the  courteous 
Doctorate  with  which  they  had  heretofore  de 
corated  him,  and  now  knew  him  most  familiarly 
as  Grandsir  Dolliver.  His  white  head,  his  Pu 
ritan  band,  his  threadbare  garb  (the  fashion  of 
which  he  had  ceased  to  change,  half  a  century 
ago),  his  gold-headed  staff,  that  had  been  Dr. 
Swinnerton's,  his  shrunken,  frosty  figure,  and  its 
feeble  movement,  —  all  these  characteristics  had 
a  wholeness  and  permanence  in  the  public  re 
cognition,  like  the  meeting-house  steeple  or  the 
town  pump.  All  the  younger  portion  of  the 
inhabitants  unconsciously  ascribed  a  sort  of  aged 
immortality  to  Grandsir  Dolliver's  infirm  and 
reverend  presence.  They  fancied  that  he  had 
been  born  old  (at  least,  I  remember  entertaining 
some  such  notions  about  age-stricken  people, 
when  I  myself  was  young),  and  that  he  could  the 
better  tolerate  his  aches  and  incommodities,  his 
dull  ears  and  dim  eyes,  his  remoteness  from  hu 
man  intercourse  within  the  crust  of  indurated 

20 


SCEiTE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

years,  the  cold  temperature  that  kept  him  always 
shivering  and  sad,  the  heavy  burden  that  invisi 
bly  bent  down  his  shoulders,  —  that  all  these  in 
tolerable  things  might  bring  a  kind  of  enjoyment 
to  Grandsir  Dolliver,  as  the  lifelong  conditions 
of  his  peculiar  existence. 

But,  alas  !  it  was  a  terrible  mistake.  This 
weight  of  years  had  a  perennial  novelty  for  the 
poor  sufferer.  He  never  grew  accustomed  to  it, 
but,  long  as  he  had  now  borne  the  fretful  torpor 
of  his  waning  life,  and  patient  as  he  seemed,  he 
still  retained  an  inward  consciousness  that  these 
stiffened  shoulders,  these  quailing  knees,  this 
cloudiness  of  sight  and  brain,  this  confused  for- 
getfulness  of  men  and  affairs,  were  troublesome 
accidents  that  did  not  really  belong  to  him.  He 
possibly  cherished  a  half-recognized  idea  that 
they  might  pass  away.  Youth,  however  eclipsed 
for  a  season,  is  undoubtedly  the  proper,  perma 
nent,  and  genuine  condition  of  man  ;  and  if  we 
look  closely  into  this  dreary  delusion  of  growing 
old,  we  shall  find  that  it  never  absolutely  succeeds 
in  laying  hold  of  our  innermost  convictions.  A 
sombre  garment,  woven  of  life's  unrealities,  has 
muffled  us  from  our  true  self,  but  within  it  smiles 
the  young  man  whom  we  knew  ;  the  ashes  of 
many  perishable  things  have  fallen  upon  our 
youthful  fire,  but  beneath  them  lurk  the  seeds 
of  inextinguishable  flame.  So  powerful  is  this 
instinctive  faith,  that  men  of  simple  modes  of 

21 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

character  are  prone  to  antedate  its  consummation. 
And  thus  it  happened  with  poor  Grandsir  Dol- 
liver,  who  often  awoke  from  an  old  man's  fitful 
sleep  with  a  sense  that  his  senile  predicament  was 
but  a  dream  of  the  past  night ;  and  hobbling 
hastily  across  the  cold  floor  to  the  looking-glass, 
he  would  be  grievously  disappointed  at  behold 
ing  the  white  hair,  the  wrinkles  and  furrows,  the 
ashen  visage  and  bent  form,  the  melancholy 
mask  of  Age,  in  which,  as  he  now  remembered, 
some  strange  and  sad  enchantment  had  involved 
him  for  years  gone  by  ! 

To  other  eyes  than  his  own,  however,  the 
shrivelled  old  gentleman  looked  as  if  there  were 
little  hope  of  his  throwing  off  this  too  artfully 
wrought  disguise,  until,  at  no  distant  day,  his 
stooping  figure  should  be  straightened  out,  his 
hoary  locks  be  smoothed  over  his  brows,  and 
his  much-enduring  bones  be  laid  safely  away, 
with  a  green  coverlet  spread  over  them,  beside 
his  Bessie,  who  doubtless  would  recognize  her 
youthful  companion  in  spite  of  his  ugly  garni 
ture  of  decay.  He  longed  to  be  gazed  at  by  the 
loving  eyes  now  closed  ;  he  shrank  from  the 
hard  stare  of  them  that  loved  him  not.  Walk 
ing  the  streets  seldom  and  reluctantly,  he  felt  a 
dreary  impulse  to  elude  the  people's  observa 
tion,  as  if  with  a  sense  that  he  had  gone  irrevo 
cably  out  of  fashion,  and  broken  his  connecting 
links  with  the  network  of  human  life  ;  or  else 

22 


SCENE  FROM  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

it  was  that  nightmare  feeling  which  we  some 
times  have  in  dreams,  when  we  seem  to  find  our 
selves  wandering  through  a  crowded  avenue, 
with  the  noonday  sun  upon  us,  in  some  wild  ex 
travagance  of  dress  or  nudity.  He  was  conscious 
of  estrangement  from  his  townspeople,  but  did 
not  always  know  how  nor  wherefore,  nor  why 
he  should  be  thus  groping  through  the  twilight 
mist  in  solitude.  If  they  spoke  loudly  to  him, 
with  cheery  voices,  the  greeting  translated  itself 
faintly  and  mournfully  to  his  ears  ;  if  they  shook 
him  by  the  hand,  it  was  as  if  a  thick,  insensible 
glove  absorbed  the  kindly  pressure  and  the 
warmth.  When  little  Pansie  was  the  companion 
of  his  walk,  her  childish  gayety  and  freedom  did 
not  avail  to  bring  him  into  closer  relationship 
with  men,  but  seemed  to  follow  him  into  that 
region  of  indefinable  remoteness,  that  dismal 
Fairyland  of  aged  fancy,  into  which  old  Grand- 
sir  Dolliver  had  so  strangely  crept  away. 

Yet  there  were  moments,  as  many  persons  had 
noticed,  when  the  great-grandpapa  would  sud 
denly  take  stronger  hues  of  life.  It  was  as  if  his 
faded  figure  had  been  colored  over  anew,  or  at 
least,  as  he  and  Pansie  moved  along  the  street, 
as  if  a  sunbeam  had  fallen  across  him,  instead  of 
the  gray  gloom  of  an  instant  before.  His  chilled 
sensibilities  had  probably  been  touched  and 
quickened  by  the  warm  contiguity  of  his  little 
companion  through  the  medium  of  her  hand,  as 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

it  stirred  within  his  own,  or  some  inflection  of 
her  voice  that  set  his  memory  ringing  and  chim 
ing  with  forgotten  sounds.  While  that  music 
lasted,  the  old  man  was  alive  and  happy.  And 
there  were  seasons,  it  might  be,  happier  than 
even  these,  when  Pansie  had  been  kissed  and  put 
to  bed,  and  Grandsir  Dolliver  sat  by  his  fireside 
gazing  in  among  the  massive  coals,  and  absorb 
ing  their  glow  into  those  cavernous  abysses  with 
which  all  men  communicate.  Hence  come  an 
gels  or  fiends  into  our  twilight  musings,  accord 
ing  as  we  may  have  peopled  them  in  bygone 
years.  Over  our  friend's  face,  in  the  rosy  flicker 
of  the  fire  gleam,  stole  an  expression  of  repose 
and  perfect  trust  that  made  him  as  beautiful  to 
look  at,  in  his  high-backed  chair,  as  the  child 
Pansie  on  her  pillow  ;  and  sometimes  the  spirits 
that  were  watching  him  beheld  a  calm  surprise 
draw  slowly  over  his  features  and  brighten  into 
joy,  yet  not  so  vividly  as  to  break  his  evening 
quietude.  The  gate  of  heaven  had  been  kindly 
left  ajar,  that  this  forlorn  old  creature  might 
catch  a  glimpse  within.  All  the  night  afterwards 
he  would  be  semi-conscious  of  an  intangible  bliss 
diffused  through  the  fitful  lapses  of  an  old  man's 
slumber,  and  would  awake,  at  early  dawn,  with 
a  faint  thrilling  of  the  heartstrings,  as  if  there 
had  been  music  just  now  wandering  over  them, 

24 


ANOTHER  SCENE  FROM  THE  DOL- 
LIVER  ROMANCE1 

WE  may  now  suppose  Grandsir  Dol- 
liver  to  have  finished  his  breakfast, 
with  a  better  appetite  and  sharper 
perception  of  the  qualities  of  his  food  than  he 
has  generally  felt  of  late  years,  whether  it  were 
due  to  old  Martha's  cookery  or  to  the  cordial 
of  the  night  before.  Little  Pansie  had  also 
made  an  end  of  her  bread  and  milk  with  entire 
satisfaction,  and  afterwards  nibbled  a  crust, 
greatly  enjoying  its  resistance  to  her  little  white 
teeth. 

How  this  child  came  by  the  odd  name  of 
Pansie,  and  whether  it  was  really  her  baptismal 
name,  I  have  not  ascertained.  More  probably 
it  was  one  of  those  pet  appellations  that  grow 
out  of  a  child's  character,  or  out  of  some  keen 
thrill  of  affection  in  the  parents,  an  unsought-for 
and  unconscious  felicity,  a  kind  of  revelation, 
teaching  them  the  true  name  by  which  the 
child's  guardian  angel  would  know  it,  —  a  name 
with  playfulness  and  love  in  it,  that  we  often 
observe  to  supersede,  in  the  practice  of  those 

1  This  scene  was  not  revised  by  the  author,  but  is  printed  from  his  fir* 
draught. 

25 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

who  love  the  child  best,  the  name  that  they 
carefully  selected,  and  caused  the  clergyman  to 
plaster  indelibly  on  the  poor  little  forehead  at 
the  font,  —  the  love  name,  whereby,  if  the  child 
lives,  the  parents  know  it  in  their  hearts,  or  by 
which,  if  it  dies,  God  seems  to  have  called  it 
away,  leaving  the  sound  lingering  faintly  and 
sweetly  through  the  house.  In  Pansie's  case, 
it  may  have  been  a  certain  pensiveness  which 
was  sometimes  seen  under  her  childish  frolic, 
and  so  translated  itself  into  French  (penste),  her 
mother  having  been  of  Acadian  kin  ;  or,  quite 
as  probably,  it  alluded  merely  to  the  color  of 
her  eyes,  which,  in  some  lights,  were  very  like 
the  dark  petals  of  a  tuft  of  pansies  in  the  Doc 
tor's  garden.  It  might  well  be,  indeed,  on  ac 
count  of  the  suggested  pensiveness  ;  for  the 
child's  gayety  had  no  example  to  sustain  it,  no 
sympathy  of  other  children  or  grown  people, 
—  and  her  melancholy,  had  it  been  so  dark  a 
feeling,  was  but  the  shadow  of  the  house  and 
of  the  old  man.  If  brighter  sunshine  came,  she 
would  brighten  with  it.  This  morning,  surely, 
as  the  three  companions,  Pansie,  puss,  and 
Grandsir  Dolliver,  emerged  from  the  shadow  of 
the  house  into  the  small  adjoining  enclosure, 
they  seemed  all  frolicsome  alike. 

The  Doctor,  however,  was  intent  over  some 
thing  that  had  reference  to  his  lifelong  business 
of  drugs.  This  little  spot  was  the  place  where 

26 


ANOTHER  SCENE 

he  was  wont  to  cultivate  a  variety  of  herbs  sup* 
posed  to  be  endowed  with  medicinal  virtue. 
Some  of  them  had  been  long  known  in  the  phar 
macopoeia  of  the  Old  World  ;  and  others,  in  the 
early  days  of  the  country,  had  been  adopted  by 
the  first  settlers  from  the  Indian  medicine  men, 
though  with  fear  and  even  contrition,  because 
these  wild  doctors  were  supposed  to  draw  their 
pharmaceutic  knowledge  from  no  gracious 
source,  the  Black  Man  himself  being  the  prin 
cipal  professor  in  their  medical  school.  From 
his  own  experience,  however,  Dr.  Dolliver  had 
long  since  doubted,  though  he  was  not  bold 
enough  quite  to  come  to  the  conclusion,  that 
Indian  shrubs,  and  the  remedies  prepared  from 
them,  were  much  less  perilous  than  those  so 
freely  used  in  European  practice,  and  singularly 
apt  to  be  followed  by  results  quite  as  propitious. 
Into  such  heterodoxy  our  friend  was  the  more 
liable  to  fall,  because  it  had  been  taught  him 
early  in  life  by  his  old  master,  Dr.  Swinnerton, 
who,  at  those  not  infrequent  times  when  he  in 
dulged  a  certain  unhappy  predilection  for  strong 
waters,  had  been  accustomed  to  inveigh  in  terms 
of  the  most  cynical  contempt  and  coarsest  ridi 
cule  against  the  practice  by  which  he  lived,  and, 
as  he  affirmed,  inflicted  death  on  his  fellow  men. 
Our  old  apothecary,  though  too  loyal  to  the 
learned  profession  with  which  he  was  connected 
fully  to  believe  this  bitter  judgment,  even  when 

27  * 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

pronounced  by  his  revered  master,  was  still  so 
far  influenced  that  his  conscience  was  possibly 
a  little  easier  when  making  a  preparation  from 
forest  herbs  and  roots  than  in  the  concoction 
of  half  a  score  of  nauseous  poisons  into  a  sin 
gle  elaborate  drug,  as  the  fashion  of  that  day 
was. 

But  there  were  shrubs  in  the  garden  of  which 
he  had  never  ventured  to  make  a  medical  use, 
nor,  indeed,  did  he  know  their  virtue,  although 
from  year  to  year  he  had  tended  and  fertilized, 
weeded  and  pruned  them,  with  something  like 
religious  care.  They  were  of  the  rarest  charac 
ter,  and  had  been  planted  by  the  learned  and 
famous  Dr.  Swinnerton,  who,  on  his  deathbed, 
when  he  left  his  dwelling  and  all  his  abstruse 
manuscripts  to  his  favorite  pupil,  had  particu 
larly  directed  his  attention  to  this  row  of  shrubs. 
They  had  been  collected  by  himself  from  remote 
countries,  and  had  the  poignancy  of  torrid  climes 
in  them  ;  and  he  told  him,  that,  properly  used, 
they  would  be  worth  all  the  rest  of  the  legacy 
a  hundredfold.  As  the  apothecary,  however, 
found  the  manuscripts,  in  which  he  conjectured 
there  was  a  treatise  on  the  subject  of  these  shrubs, 
mostly  illegible,  and  quite  beyond  his  compre 
hension  in  such  passages  as  he  succeeded  in 
puzzling  out  (partly,  perhaps,  owing  to  his  very 
imperfect  knowledge  of  Latin,  in  which  lan 
guage  they  were  written),  he  had  never  derived 

28 


ANOTHER  SCENE 

from  them  any  of  the  promised  benefit.  And, 
to  say  the  truth,  remembering  that  Dr.  Swin- 
nerton  himself  never  appeared  to  triturate  or 
decoct  or  do  anything  else  with  the  mysterious 
herbs,  our  old  friend  was  inclined  to  imagine 
the  weighty  commendation  of  their  virtues  to 
have  been  the  idly  solemn  utterance  of  mental 
aberration  at  the  hour  of  death.  So,  with  the 
integrity  that  belonged  to  his  character,  he  had 
nurtured  them  as  tenderly  as  was  possible  in 
the  ungenial  climate  and  soil  of  New  England, 
putting  some  of  them  into  pots  for  the  winter ; 
but  they  had  rather  dwindled  than  flourished, 
and  he  had  reaped  no  harvests  from  them,  nor 
observed  them  with  any  degree  of  scientific  in 
terest. 

His  grandson,  however,  while  yet  a  school 
boy,  had  listened  to  the  old  man's  legend  of  the 
miraculous  virtues  of  these  plants ;  and  it  took  so 
firm  a  hold  of  his  mind,  that  the  row  of  outland 
ish  vegetables  seemed  rooted  in  it,  and  certainly 
flourished  there  with  richer  luxuriance  than  in 
the  soil  where  they  actually  grew.  The  story, 
acting  thus  early  upon  his  imagination,  may  be 
said  to  have  influenced  his  brief  career  in  life,  and, 
perchance,  brought  about  its  early  close.  The 
young  man,  in  the  opinion  of  competent  judges, 
was  endowed  with  remarkable  abilities,  and  ac 
cording  to  the  rumor  of  the  people  had  wonder 
ful  gifts,  which  were  proved  by  the  cures  he  had 

29 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

wrought  with  remedies  of  his  own  invention, 
His  talents  lay  in  the  direction  of  scientific 
analysis  and  inventive  combination  of  chemical 
powers.  While  under  the  pupilage  of  his  grand 
father,  his  progress  had  rapidly  gone  quite  be 
yond  his  instructor's  hope,  —  leaving  him  even 
to  tremble  at  the  audacity  with  which  he  over 
turned  and  invented  theories,  and  to  wonder  at 
the  depth  at  which  he  wrought  beneath  the  su- 
perricialness  and  mock  mystery  of  the  medical 
science  of  those  days,  like  a  miner  sinking  his 
shaft  and  running  a  hideous  peril  of  the  earth 
caving  in  above  him.  s  Especially  did  he  devote 
himself  to  these  plants  ;  and  under  his  care  they 
had  thriven  beyond  all  former  precedent,  burst 
ing  into  luxuriance  of  bloom,  and  most  of  them 
bearing  beautiful  flowers,  which,  however,  in  two 
or  three  instances,  had  the  sort  of  natural  repul- 
siveness  that  the  serpent  has  in  its  beauty,  com 
pelled  against  its  will,  as  it  were,  to  warn  the 
beholder  of  an  unrevealed  danger.^  The  young 
man  had  long  ago,  it  must  be  added,  demanded 
of  his  grandfather  the  documents  included  in 
the  legacy  of  Professor  Swinnerton,  and  had 
spent  days  and  nights  upon  them,  growing  pale 
over  their  mystic  lore,  which  seemed  the  fruit 
not  merely  of  the  Professor's  own  labors,  but  of 
those  of  more  ancient  sages  than  he  ;  and  often 
a  whole  volume  seemed  to  be  compressed  within 
the  limits  cf  a  few  lines  of  crabbed  manuscript, 

30 


ANOTHER  SCENE 

judging  from  the  time  which  it  cost  even  the 
quick-minded  student  to  decipher  them. 

Meantime  these  abstruse  investigations  had 
not  wrought  such  disastrous  effects  as  might 
have  been  feared,  in  causing  Edward  Dolliver 
to  neglect  the  humble  trade,  the  conduct  of 
which  his  grandfather  had  now  relinquished  al 
most  entirely  into  his  hands.  On  the  contrary, 
with  the  mere  side  results  of  his  study,  or  what 
may  be  called  the  chips  and  shavings  of  his  real 
work,  he  created  a  prosperity  quite  beyond  any 
thing  that  his  simple-minded  predecessor  had 
ever  hoped  for,  even  at  the  most  sanguine  epoch 
of  his  life.  The  young  man's  adventurous  en 
dowments  were  miraculously  alive,  and  connect 
ing  themselves  with  his  remarkable  ability  for 
solid  research,  and  perhaps  his  conscience  being 
as  yet  imperfectly  developed  (as  it  sometimes 
lies  dormant  in  the  young),  he  spared  not  to 
produce  compounds  which,  if  the  names  were 
anywise  to  be  trusted,  would  supersede  all  other 
remedies,  and  speedily  render  any  medicine  a 
needless  thing,  making  the  trade  of  apothecary 
an  untenable  one,  and  the  title  of  Doctor  ob 
solete.  Whether  there  was  real  efficacy  in  these 
nostrums,  and  whether  their  author  himself  had 
faith  in  them,  is  more  than  can  safely  be  said  , 
but,  at  all  events,  the  public  believed  in  them, 
and  thronged  to  the  old  and  dim  sign  of  the 
Brazen  Serpent,  which,  though  hitherto  familiar 

31 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

to  them  and  their  forefathers,  now  seemed  to  shine 
with  auspicious  lustre,  as  if  its  old  Scriptural 
virtues  were  renewed.  If  any  faith  was  to  be 
put  in  human  testimony,  many  marvellous  cures 
were  really  performed,  the  fame  of  which  spread 
far  and  wide,  and  caused  demands  for  these 
medicines  to  come  in  from  places  far  beyond  the 
precincts  of  the  little  town.  Our  old  apothecary, 
now  degraded  by  the  overshadowing  influence 
of  his  grandson's  character  to  a  position  not 
much  above  that  of  a  shopboy,  stood  behind 
the  counter  with  a  face  sad  and  distrustful,  and 
yet  with  an  odd  kind  of  fitful  excitement  in  it, 
as  if  he  would  have  liked  to  enjoy  this  new  pro 
sperity,  had  he  dared.  Then  his  venerable 
figure  was  to  be  seen  dispensing  these  question 
able  compounds  by  the  single  bottle  and  by  the 
dozen,  wronging  his  simple  conscience  as  he 
dealt  out  what  he  feared  was  trash  or  worse, 
shrinking  from  the  reproachful  eyes  of  every 
ancient  physician  who  might  chance  to  be  pass 
ing  by,  but  withal  examining  closely  the  silver, 
or  the  New  England  coarsely  printed  bills,  which 
he  took  in  payment,  as  if  apprehensive  that  the 
delusive  character  of  the  commodity  which  he 
sold  might  be  balanced  by  equal  counterfeiting 
in  the  money  received,  or  as  if  his  faith  in  all 
things  were  shaken. 

Is  it  not  possible  that  this  gifted  young  man 
had   indeed   found    out   those   remedies  which 

32 


ANOTHER  SCENE 

Nature  has  provided  and  laid  away  for  the  cure 
of  every  ill  ? 

The  disastrous  termination  of  the  most  bril 
liant  epoch  that  ever  came  to  the  Brazen  Serpent 
must  be  told  in  a  few  words.  One  night,  Ed 
ward  Dolliver's  young  wife  awoke,  and,  seeing 
the  gray  dawn  creeping  into  the  chamber,  while 
her  husband,  it  should  seem,  was  still  engaged 
in  his  laboratory,  arose  in  her  nightdress,  and 
went  to  the  door  of  the  room  to  put  in  her 
gentle  remonstrance  against  such  labor.  There 
she  found  him  dead,  —  sunk  down  out  of  his 
chair  upon  the  hearth,  where  were  some  ashes, 
apparently  of  burnt  manuscripts,  which  appeared 
to  comprise  most  of  those  included  in  Dr.  Swin- 
nerton's  legacy,  though  one  or  two  had  fallen 
near  the  heap,  and  lay  merely  scorched  beside 
it.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  thrown  them  into  the 
fire,  under  a  sudden  impulse,  in  a  great  hurry 
and  passion.  It  may  be  that  he  had  come  to 
the  perception  of  something  fatally  false  and  de 
ceptive  in  the  successes  which  he  had  appeared 
to  win,  and  was  too  proud  and  too  conscientious 
to  survive  it.  Doctors  were  called  in,  but  had 
no  power  to  revive  him.  An  inquest  was  held, 
at  which  the  jury,  under  the  instruction,  per 
haps,  of  those  same  revengeful  doctors,  expressed 
the  opinion  that  the  poor  young  man,  being 
given  to  strange  contrivances  with  poisonous 
drugs,  had  died  by  incautiously  tasting  them 

33 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

himself.  This  verdict,  and  the  terrible  event 
itself,  at  once  deprived  the  medicines  of  all  their 
popularity  ;  and  the  poor  old  apothecary  was  no 
longer  under  any  necessity  of  disturbing  his  con 
science  by  selling  them.  They  at  once  lost  their 
repute,  and  ceased  to  be  in  any  demand.  In 
the  few  instances  in  which  they  were  tried,  the 
experiment  was  followed  by  no  good  results ; 
and  even  those  individuals  who  had  fancied 
themselves  cured,  and  had  been  loudest  in 
spreading  the  praises  of  these  beneficent  com 
pounds,  now,  as  if  for  the  utter  demolition  of 
the  poor  youth's  credit,  suffered  under  a  recur 
rence  of  the  worst  symptoms,  and,  in  more  than 
one  case,  perished  miserably  :  insomuch  (for  the 
days  of  witchcraft  were  still  within  the  memory 
of  living  men  and  women)  it  was  the  general 
opinion  that  Satan  had  been  personally  con 
cerned  in  this  affliction,  and  that  the  Brazen 
Serpent,  so  long  honored  among  them,  was  really 
the  type  of  his  subtle  malevolence  and  perfect 
iniquity.  It  was  rumored  even  that  all  prepara 
tions  that  came  from  the  shop  were  harmful:  that 
teeth  decayed  that  had  been  made  pearly  white 
by  the  use  of  the  young  chemist's  dentifrice ; 
that  cheeks  were  freckled  that  had  been  changed 
to  damask  roses  by  his  cosmetics  ;  that  hair 
turned  gray  or  fell  off  that  had  become  black, 
glossy,  and  luxuriant  from  the  application  of  his 
mixtures ;  that  breath  which  his  drugs  had 

34 


ANOTHER  SCENE 

sweetened  had  now  a  sulphurous  smell.  More 
over,  all  the  money  heretofore  amassed  by  the 
sale  of  them  had  been  exhausted  by  Edward 
Dolliver  in  his  lavish  expenditure  for  the  pro 
cesses  of  his  study ;  and  nothing  was  left  for 
Pansie,  except  a  few  valueless  and  unsalable 
bottles  of  medicine,  and  one  or  two  others,  per 
haps  more  recondite  than  their  inventor  had  seen 
fit  to  offer  to  the  public.  Little  Pansie's  mother 
lived  but  a  short  time  after  the  shock  of  the 
terrible  catastrophe  ;  and,  as  we  began  our  story 
with  saying,  she  was  left  with  no  better  guardian 
ship  or  support  than  might  be  found  in  the 
efforts  of  a  long  superannuated  man. 

Nothing  short  of  the  simplicity,  integrity,  and 
piety  of  Grandsir  Dolliver's  character,  known 
and  acknowledged  as  far  back  as  the  oldest  in 
habitants  remembered  anything,  and  inevitably 
discoverable  by  the  dullest  and  most  prejudiced 
observers,  in  all  its  natural  manifestations,  could 
have  protected  him  in  still  creeping  about  the 
streets.  So  far  as  he  was  personally  concerned, 
however,  all  bitterness  and  suspicion  had  speed 
ily  passed  away  ;  and  there  remained  still  the 
careless  and  neglectful  good  will,  and  the  pre 
scriptive  reverence,  not  altogether  reverential, 
which  the  world  heedlessly  awards  to  the  unfor 
tunate  individual  who  outlives  his  generation. 

And  now  that  we  have  shown  the  reader  suf 
ficiently,  or  at  least  to  the  best  of  our  knowledge, 

35 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

and  perhaps  at  tedious  length,  what  was  the  pre 
sent  position  of  Grandsir  Dolliver,  we  may  let 
our  story  pass  onward,  though  at  such  a  pace 
as  suits  the  feeble  gait  of  an  old  man. 

The  peculiarly  brisk  sensation  of  this  morn 
ing,  to  which  we  have  more  than  once  alluded, 
enabled  the  Doctor  to  toil  pretty  vigorously  at 
his  medicinal  herbs,  —  his  catnip,  his  vervain, 
and  the  like ;  but  he  did  not  turn  his  attention  to 
the  row  of  mystic  plants,  with  which  so  much  of 
trouble  and  sorrow  either  was,  or  appeared  to  be, 
connected.  In  truth,  his  old  soul  was  sick  of 
them,  and  their  very  fragrance,  which  the  warm 
sunshine  made  strongly  perceptible,  was  odious 
to  his  nostrils.  But  the  spicy,  homelike  scent  of 
his  other  herbs,  the  English  simples,  was  grate 
ful  to  him,  and  so  was  the  earth  smell,  as  he 
turned  up  the  soil  about  their  roots,  and  eagerly 
snuffed  it  in.  Little  Pansie,  on  the  other  hand, 
perhaps  scandalized  at  great-grandpapa's  neglect 
of  the  prettiest  plants  in  his  garden,  resolved  to 
do  her  small  utmost  towards  balancing  his  injus 
tice  ;  so  with  an  old  shingle,  fallen  from  the  roof, 
which  she  had  appropriated  as  her  agricultural 
tool,  she  began  to  dig  about  them,  pulling  up 
the  weeds,  as  she  saw  grandpapa  doing.  The 
kitten,  too,  with  a  look  of  elfish  sagacity,  lent 
her  assistance,  plying  her  paws  with  vast  haste 
and  efficiency  at  the  roots  of  one  of  the  shrubs. 
This  particular  one  was  much  smaller  than  the 

36 


ANOTHER  SCENE 

rest,  perhaps  because  it  was  a  native  of  the  torrid 
zone,  and  required  greater  care  than  the  others 
to  make  it  flourish  ;  so  that,  shrivelled,  can 
kered,  and  scarcely  showing  a  green  leaf,  both 
Pansie  and  the  kitten  probably  mistook  it  for  a 
weed.  After  their  joint  efforts  had  made  a  pretty 
big  trench  about  it,  the  little  girl  seized  the 
shrub  with  both  hands,  bestriding  it  with  her 
plump  little  legs,  and  giving  so  vigorous  a  pull, 
that,  long  accustomed  to  be  transplanted  annu 
ally,  it  came  up  by  the  roots,  and  little  Pansie 
came  down  in  a  sitting  posture,  making  a  broad 
impress  on  the  soft  earth.  "  See,  see,  Doctor  !  " 
cries  Pansie,  comically  enough  giving  him  his 
title  of  courtesy,  —  "  look,  grandpapa,  the  big, 
naughty  weed  !  " 

Now  the  Doctor  had  at  once  a  peculiar  dread 
and  a  peculiar  value  for  this  identical  shrub, 
both  because  his  grandson's  investigations  had 
been  applied  more  ardently  to  it  than  to  all  the 
rest,  and  because  it  was  associated  in  his  mind 
with  an  ancient  and  sad  recollection.  For  he 
had  never  forgotten  that  his  wife,  the  early  lost, 
had  once  taken  a  fancy  to  wear  its  flowers,  day 
after  day,  through  the  whole  season  of  their 
bloom,  in  her  bosom,  where  they  glowed  like  a 
gem,  and  deepened  her  somewhat  pallid  beauty 
with  a  richness  never  before  seen  in  it.  At  least 
such  was  the  effect  which  this  tropical  flower  im 
parted  to  the  beloved  form  in  his  memory,  and 

37 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

jhus  it  somehow  both  brightened  and  wronged 
her.  This  had  happened  not  long  before  her 
death  ;  and  whenever,  in  the  subsequent  years, 
this  plant  had  brought  its  annual  flower,  it  had 
proved  a  kind  of  talisman  to  bring  up  the  image 
of  Bessie,  radiant  with  this  glow  that  did  not 
really  belong  to  her  naturally  passive  beauty, 
quickly  interchanging  with  another  image  of  her 
form,  with  the  snow  of  death  on  cheek  and  fore 
head.  This  reminiscence  had  remained  among 
the  things  of  which  the  Doctor  was  always  con 
scious,  but  had  never  breathed  a  word,  through 
the  whole  of  his  long  life,  —  a  sprig  of  sensibility 
that  perhaps  helped  to  keep  him  tenderer  and 
purer  than  other  men,  who  entertain  no  such 
follies.  And  the  sight  of  the  shrub  often  brought 
back  the  faint,  golden  gleam  of  her  hair,  as  if 
her  spirit  were  in  the  sunlights  of  the  garden, 
quivering  into  view  and  out  of  it.  And  there 
fore,  when  he  saw  what  Pansie  had  done,  he 
sent  forth  a  strange,  inarticulate,  hoarse,  tremu 
lous  exclamation,  a  sort  of  aged  and  decrepit  cry 
of  mingled  emotion.  "  Naughty  Pansie,  to  pull 
up  grandpapa's  flower  !  "  said  he,  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak.  "  Poison,  Pansie,  poison  !  Fling 
it  away,  child  !  " 

And  dropping  his  spade,  the  old  gentleman 
scrambled  towards  the  little  girl  as  quickly  as 
his  rusty  joints  would  let  him,  — while  Pansie, 
as  apprehensive  and  quick  of  motion  as  a  fawn, 

38 


ANOTHER  SCENE 

started  up  with  a  shriek  of  mirth  and  fear  to 
escape  him.  It  so  happened  that  the  garden 
gate  was  ajar ;  and  a  puff  of  wind  blowing  it 
wide  open,  she  escaped  through  this  fortuitous 
avenue,  followed  by  great-grandpapa  and  the 
kitten. 

"  Stop,  naughty  Pansie,  stop  !  "  shouted  our 
old  friend.  "  You  will  tumble  into  the  grave  !  " 
The  kitten,  with  the  singular  sensitiveness  that 
seems  to  affect  it  at  every  kind  of  excitement, 
was  now  on  her  back. 

And,  indeed,  this  portentous  warning  was  bet 
ter  grounded  and  had  a  more  literal  meaning  than 
might  be  supposed  ;  for  the  swinging  gate  com 
municated  with  the  burial  ground,  and  almost 
directly  in  little  Pansie's  track  there  was  a  newTly 
dug  grave,  ready  to  receive  its  tenant  that  after 
noon.  Pansie,  however,  fled  onward  with  out 
stretched  arms,  half  in  fear,  half  in  fun,  plying 
her  round  little  legs  with  wonderful  promptitude, 
as  if  to  escape  Time  or  Death,  in  the  person  of 
Grandsir  Dolliver,  and  happily  avoiding  the  om 
inous  pitfall  that  lies  in  every  person's  path,  till, 
hearing  a  groan  from  her  pursuer,  she  looked 
over  her  shoulder,  and  saw  that  poor  grandpapa 
had  stumbled  over  one  of  the  many  hillocks. 
She  then  suddenly  wrinkled  up  her  little  visage, 
and  sent  forth  a  full-breathed  roar  of  sympathy 
and  alarm. 

39 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

cc  Grandpapa  has  broken  his  neck  now !  "  cried 
little  Pansie,  amid  her  sobs. 

fr  Kiss  grandpapa,  and  make  it  well,  then," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  recollecting  her  remedy, 
and  scrambling  up  more  readily  than  could  be 
expected.  "  Well,"  he  murmured  to  himself, 
"  a  hair's  breadth  more,  and  I  should  have  been 
tumbled  into  yonder  grave.  Poor  little  Pansie  ! 
what  wouldst  thou  have  done  then  ?  " 

"  Make  the  grass  grow  over  grandpapa,"  an 
swered  Pansie,  laughing  up  in  his  face. 

"  Poh,  poh,  child,  that  is  not  a  pretty  thing 
to  say,"  said  grandpapa  pettishly  and  disap 
pointed,  as  people  are  apt  to  be  when  they  try 
to  calculate  on  the  fitful  sympathies  of  childhood. 
"  Come,  you  must  go  in  to  old  Martha  now." 

The  poor  old  gentleman  was  in  the  more  haste 
to  leave  the  spot  because  he  found  himself  stand 
ing  right  in  front  of  his  own  peculiar  row  of 
gravestones,  consisting  of  eight  or  nine  slabs  of 
slate,  adorned  with  carved  borders  rather  rudely 
cut,  and  the  earliest  one,  that  of  his  Bessie,  bend 
ing  aslant,  because  the  frost  of  so  many  winters 
had  slowly  undermined  it.  Over  one  grave  of 
the  row,  that  of  his  gifted  grandson,  there  was 
no  memorial.  He  felt  a  strange  repugnance, 
stronger  than  he  had  ever  felt  before,  to  linger 
by  these  graves,  and  had  none  of  the  tender  sor 
row,  mingled  with  high  and  tender  hopes,  that 
had  sometimes  made  it  seem  good  to  him  to  be 

40 


ANOTHER  SCENE 

there.  Such  moods,  perhaps,  often  come  to  the 
aged,  when  the  hardened  earth  crust  over  their 
souls  shuts  them  out  from  spiritual  influences. 

Taking  the  child  by  the  hand, —  her  little  ef 
fervescence  of  infantile  fun  having  passed  into  a 
downcast  humor,  though  not  well  knowing  as  yet 
what  a  dusky  cloud  of  disheartening  fancies  arose 
from  these  green  hillocks,  —  he  went  heavily 
toward  the  garden  gate.  Close  to  its  threshold, 
so  that  one  who  was  issuing  forth  or  entering 
must  needs  step  upon  it  or  over  it,  lay  a  small 
flat  stone,  deeply  imbedded  in  the  ground,  and 
partly  covered  with  grass,  inscribed  with  the 
name  of  "  Dr.  John  Swinnerton,  Physician." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  old  man,  as  the  well-remem 
bered  figure  of  his  ancient  instructor  seemed  to 
rise  before  him  in  his  grave-apparel,  with  beard 
and  gold-headed  cane,  black  velvet  doublet  and 
cloak,  "  here  lies  a  man  who,  as  people  have 
thought,  had  it  in  his  power  to  avoid  the  grave  ! 
He  had  no  little  grandchild  to  tease  him.  He 
had  the  choice  to  die,  and  chose  it." 

So  the  old  gentleman  led  Pansie  over  the  stone3 
and  carefully  closed  the  gate  ;  and,  as  it  hap 
pened,  he  forgot  the  uprooted  shrub,  which  Pan 
sie,  as  she  ran,  had  flung  a\vay,  and  which  had 
fallen  into  the  open  grave  ;  and  when  the  fu 
neral  came  that  afternoon,  the  coffin  was  let  down 
upon  it,  so  that  its  bright,  inauspicious  flower 
never  bloomed  again. 


ANOTHER    FRAGMENT    OF   THE 
DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

• 

BE  secret  !  "  and  he  kept  his  stern  eye 
fixed  upon  him,  as  the  coach  began  to 
move. 

"  Be  secret  !  "  repeated  the  apothecary.  "  I 
know  not  any  secret  that  he  has  confided  to  me 
thus  far,  and  as  for  his  nonsense  (as  I  will  be 
bold  to  style  it  now  he  is  gone)  about  a  medi 
cine  of  long  life,  it  is  a  thing  I  forget  in  spite  of 
myself,  so  very  empty  and  trashy  it  is.  I  won 
der,  by  the  bye,  that  it  never  came  into  my 
head  to  give  the  Colonel  a  dose  of  the  cordial 
whereof  I  partook  last  night.  I  have  no  faith 
that  it  is  a  valuable  medicine,  —  little  or  none, 
—  and  yet  there  has  been  an  unwonted  brisk 
ness  in  me  all  the  morning." 

Then  a  simple  joy  broke  over  his  face  —  a 
flickering  sunbeam  among  his  wrinkles  —  as  he 
heard  the  laughter  of  the  little  girl,  who  was 
running  rampant  with  a  kitten  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Pansie  !  Pansie  !  "  cackled  he,  "  grandpapa 
has  sent  away  the  ugly  man  now.  Come,  let 
us  have  a  Frolic  in  the  garden." 

And  he  whispered  to  himself  again,  "  That 
is  a  cordial  yonder,  and  I  will  take  it  according 
42 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

to  the  prescription,  knowing  all  the  ingredients." 
Then,  after  a  moment's  thought,  he  added, 
"All,  save  one." 

So,  as  he  had  declared  to  himself  his  intention, 
that  night,  when  little  Pansie  had  long  been 
asleep,  and  his  small  household  was  in  bed,  and 
most  of  the  quiet,  old-fashioned  townsfolk  like 
wise,  this  good  apothecary  went  into  his  labora 
tory,  and  took  out  of  a  cupboard  in  the  wall  a 
certain  ancient-looking  bottle,  which  was  cased 
over  with  a  network  of  what  seemed  to  be  wo 
ven  silver,  like  the  wicker-woven  bottles  of  our 
days.  He  had  previously  provided  a  goblet  of 
pure  water.  •  Before  opening  the  bottle,  how 
ever,  he  seemed  to  hesitate,  and  pondered  and 
babbled  to  himself;  having  long  since  come  to 
that  period  of  life  when  the  bodily  frame,  hav 
ing  lost  much  of  its  value,  is  more  tenderly  cared 
for  than  when  it  was  a  perfect  and  inestimable 
machine. 

"  I  triturated,  I  infused,  I  distilled  it  myself 
in  these  very  rooms,  and  know  it  —  know  it 
all  —  all  the  ingredients,  save  one.  They  are 
common  things  enough  —  comfortable  things  — 
some  of  them  a  little  queer  —  one  or  two  that 
folks  have  a  prejudice  against  —  and  then  there 
is  that  one  thing  that  I  don't  knowr.  It  is  fool 
ish  in  me  to  be  dallying  with  such  a  mess, 
which  I  thought  was  a  piece  of  quackery,  while 
that  strange  visitor  bade  me  do  it,  —  and  yet, 

43 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

what  a  strength  has  come  from  it !  He  said  it 
was  a  rare  cordial,  and,  methinks,  it  has  bright 
ened  up  my  weary  life  all  day,  so  that  Pansie 
has  found  me  the  fitter  playmate.  And  then 
the  dose,  —  it  is  so  absurdly  small  !  I  will  try 
it  again." 

He  took  the  silver  stopple  from  the  bottle, 
and  with  a  practised  hand,  tremulous  as  it  was 
with  age,  so  that  one  would  have  thought  it 
must  have  shaken  the  liquor  into  a  perfect 
shower  of  misapplied  drops,  he  dropped  —  I 
have  heard  it  said  —  only  one  single  drop  into 
the  goblet  of  water.  It  fell  into  it  with  a  daz 
zling  brightness,  like  a  spark  of  ruby  flame,  and 
subtly  diffusing  itself  through  the  whole  body 
of  water,  turned  it  to  a  rosy  hue  of  great  bril 
liancy.  He  held  it  up  between  his  eyes  and  the 
light,  and  seemed  to  admire  and  wonder  at  it. 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  said  he,  "  that  such  a  pure, 
bright  liquor  should  have  come  out  of  a  parcel 
of  weeds  that  mingled  their  juices  here.  The 
thing  is  a  folly,  —  it  is  one  of  those  composi 
tions  in  which  the  chemists —  the  cabalists,  per 
haps —  used  to  combine  what  they  thought  the 
virtues  of  many  plants,  thinking  that  something 
would  result  in  the  whole,  which  was  not  in 
either  of  them,  and  a  new  efficacy  be  created. 
Whereas,  it  has  been  the  teaching  of  my  expe 
rience  that  one  virtue  counteracts  another,  and 
is  the  enemy  of  it.  I  never  believed  the  former 

44 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

theory,  even  when  that  strange  madman  bade 
me  do  it.  And  what  a  thick,  turbid  matter  it 
was,  until  that  last  ingredient,  —  that  powder 
which  he  put  in  with  his  own  hand  !  Had  he 
let  me  see  it,  I  would  first  have  analyzed  it,  and 
discovered  its  component  parts.  The  man  was 
mad,  undoubtedly,  and  this  may  have  been  poi 
son.  But  its  effect  is  good.  Poh  !  I  will  taste 
again,  because  of  this  weak,  agued,  miserable 
state  of  mine ;  though  it  is  a  shame  in  me,  a 
man  of  decent  skill  in  my  way,  to  believe  in  a 
quack's  nostrum.  But  it  is  a  comfortable  kind 
of  thing." 

Meantime,  that  single  drop  (for  good  Dr. 
Dolliver  had  immediately  put  a  stopper  into  the 
bottle)  diffused  a  sweet  odor  through  the  cham 
ber,  so  that  the  ordinary  fragrances  and  scents  of 
apothecaries'  stuff  seemed  to  be  controlled  and 
influenced  by  it,  and  its  bright  potency  also  dis 
pelled  a  certain  dimness  of  the  antiquated  room. 

The  Doctor,  at  the  pressure  of  a  great  need, 
had  given  incredible  pains  to  the  manufacture 
of  this  medicine  ;  so  that,  reckoning  the  pains 
rather  than  the  ingredients  (all  except  one,  of 
which  he  was  not  able  to  estimate  the  cost  nor 
value),  it  was  really  worth  its  weight  in  gold. 
And,  as  it  happened,  he  had  bestowed  upon  it 
the  hard  labor  of  his  poor  life,  and  the  time 
that  was  necessary  for  the  support  of  his  family, 
without  return  ;  for  the  customers,  after  playing 

45 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

off  this  cruel  joke  upon  the  old  man,  had  never 
come  back ;  and  now,  for  seven  years,  the  bot 
tle  had  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  cupboard.  To 
be  sure,  the  silver-cased  bottle  was  worth  a  trifle 
for  its  silver,  and  still  more,  perhaps,  as  an  an 
tiquarian  knickknack.  But,  all  things  consid 
ered,  the  honest  and  simple  apothecary  thought 
that  he  might  make  free  with  the  liquid  to  such 
small  extent  as  was  necessary  for  himself.  And 
there  had  been  something  in  the  concoction  that 
had  struck  him  ;  and  he  had  been  fast  breaking 
lately ;  and  so,  in  the  dreary  fantasy  and  lonely 
recklessness  of  his  old  age,  he  had  suddenly 
bethought  himself  of  this  medicine  (cordial,  as 
the  strange  man  called  it,  which  had  come  to  him 
by  long  inheritance  in  his  family)  and  he  had 
determined  to  try  it.  And  again,  as  the  night 
before,  he  took  out  the  receipt  —  a  roll  of  an 
tique  parchment,  out  of  which,  provokingly,  one 
fold  had  been  lost  —  and  put  on  his  spectacles 
to  puzzle  out  the  passage. 

Guttam  unicam  in  aquam  puram,  two  gills. 
"  If  the  Colonel  should  hear  of  this,"  said  Dr. 
Dolliver,  "  he  might  fancy  it  his  nostrum  of 
long  life,  and  insist  on  having  the  bottle  for  his 
own  use.  The  foolish,  fierce  old  gentleman  ! 
He  has  grown  very  earthly,  of  late,  else  he 
would  not  desire  such  a  thing.  And  a  strong 
desire  it  must  be  to  make  him  feel  it  desirable. 
For  my  part,  I  only  wish  for  something  that, 

46 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

for  a  short  time,  may  clear  my  eyes,  so  that  I 
may  see  little  Pansie's  beauty,  and  quicken  my 
ears,  that  I  may  hear  her  sweet  voice,  and  give 
me  nerve,  while  God  keeps  me  here,  that  I  may 
live  longer  to  earn  bread  for  dear  Pansie.  She 
provided  for,  I  would  gladly  lie  down  yonder 
with  Bessie  and  our  children.  Ah  !  the  van 
ity  of  desiring  lengthened  days  !  —  There  !  —  I 
have  drunk  it,  and  methinks  its  final,  subtle 
flavor  hath  strange  potency  in  it." 

The  old  man  shivered  a  little,  as  those  shiver 
who  have  just  swallowed  good  liquor,  while  it 
is  permeating  their  vitals.  Yet  he  seemed  to 
be  in  a  pleasant  state  of  feeling,  and,  as  was  fre 
quently  the  case  with  this  simple  soul,  in  a  de 
vout  frame  of  mind.  He  read  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible,  and  said  his  prayers  for  Pansie  and  him 
self,  before  he  went  to  bed,  and  had  much  bet 
ter  sleep  than  usually  comes  to  people  of  his 
advanced  age  ;  for,  at  that  period,  sleep  is  dif 
fused  through  their  \vakefulness,  and  a  dim  and 
tiresome  half-perception  through  their  sleep,  so 
that  the  only  result  is  weariness. 

Nothing  very  extraordinary  happened  to  Dr. 
Dolliver  or  his  small  household  for  some  time 
afterwards.  He  was  favored  with  a  comfortable 
winter,  and  thanked  Heaven  for  it,  and  put  it 
to  a  good  use  (at  least  he  intended  it  so)  by 
concocting  drugs  ;  which  perhaps  did  a  little 
towards  peopling  the  graveyard,  into  which  his 
47 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

windows  looked  ;  but  that  was  neither  his  pur 
pose  nor  his  fault.  None  of  the  sleepers,  at  all 
events,  interrupted  their  slumbers  to  upbraid 
him.  He  had  done  according  to  his  own  art 
less  conscience  and  the  recipes  of  licensed  phy 
sicians,  and  he  looked  no  further,  but  pounded, 
triturated,  infused,  made  electuaries,  boluses, 
juleps,  or  whatever  he  termed  his  productions, 
with  skill  and  diligence,  thanking  Heaven  that 
he  was  spared  to  do  so,  when  his  contempora 
ries  generally  were  getting  incapable  of  similar 
efforts.  It  struck  him  with  some  surprise,  but 
much  gratitude  to  Providence,  that  his  sight 
seemed  to  be  growing  rather  better  than  worse. 
He  certainly  could  read  the  crabbed  handwriting 
and  hieroglyphics  of  the  physicians  with  more 
readiness  than  he  could  a  year  earlier.  But  he 
had  been  originally  near-sighted,  with  large,  pro 
jecting  eyes  ;  and  near-sighted  eyes  always  seem 
to  get  a  new  lease  of  light  as  the  years  go  on. 
One  thing  was  perceptible  about  the  Doctor's 
eyes,  not  only  to  himself  in  the  glass,  but  to 
everybody  else ;  namely,  that  they  had  an  unac 
customed  gleaming  brightness  in  them  ;  not  so 
very  bright,  either,  but  yet  so  much  so  that  lit 
tle  Pansie  noticed  it,  and  sometimes,  in  her  play 
ful,  roguish  way,  climbed  up  into  his  lap,  and 
put  both  her  small  palms  over  them  ;  telling 
grandpapa  that  he  had  stolen  somebody  else's 
eyes,  and  given  away  his  own,  and  that  she 

'48 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

liked  his  old  ones  better.  The  poor  old  Doc 
tor  did  his  best  to  smile  through  his  eyes,  and 
so  to  reconcile  Pansie  to  their  brightness ;  but 
still  she  continually  made  the  same  silly  remon 
strance,  so  that  he  was  fain  to  put  on  a  pair  of 
green  spectacles  when  he  was  going  to  play  with 
Pansie,  or  took  her  on  his  knee.  Nay,  if  he 
looked  at  her,  as  had  always  been  his  custom, 
after  she  was  asleep,  in  order  to  see  that  all  was 
well  with  her,  the  little  child  would  put  up  her 
hands,  as  if  he  held  a  light  that  was  flashing 
on  her  eyeballs  ;  and  unless  he  turned  away  his 
gaze  quickly,  she  would  wake  up  in  a  fit  of 
crying. 

On  the  whole,  the  apothecary  had  as  comfort 
able  a  time  as  a  man  of  his  years  could  expect. 
The  air  of  the  house  and  of  the  old  graveyard 
seemed  to  suit  him.  What  so  seldom  happens 
in  man's  advancing  age,  his  night's  rest  did 
him  good,  whereas,  generally,  an  old  man  wakes 
up  ten  times  as  nervous  and  dispirited  as  he 
went  to  bed,  just  as  if,  during  his  sleep,  he  had 
been  working  harder  than  ever  he  did  in  the 
daytime.  It  had  been  so  with  the  Doctor  him 
self  till  within  a  few  months.  To  be  sure,  he 
had  latterly  begun  to  practise  various  rules  of 
diet  and  exercise,  which  commended  themselves 
to  his  approbation.  He  sawed  some  of  his  own 
firewood,  and  fancied  that,  as  was  reasonable, 
it  fatigued  him  less  day  by  day.  He  took  walks 

4-9 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

with  Pansie,  and  though,  of  course,  her  little 
footsteps,  treading  on  the  elastic  air  of  childhood, 
far  outstripped  his  own,  still  the  old  man  knew 
that  he  was  not  beyond  the  recuperative  period 
of  life,  and  that  exercise  out  of  doors  and  proper 
food  can  do  somewhat  towards  retarding  the 
approach  of  age.  He  was  inclined,  also,  to  im 
pute  much  good  effect  to  a  daily  dose  of  Santa 
Cruz  rum  (a  liquor  much  in  vogue  in  that  day), 
which  he  was  now  in  the  habit  of  quaffing  at  the 
meridian  hour.  All  through  the  Doctor's  life 
he  had  eschewed  strong  spirits.  "  But  after  sev 
enty,"  quoth  old  Dr.  Dolliver,  "  a  man  is  all 
the  better  in  head  and  stomach  for  a  little  stim 
ulus  ;  "  and  it  certainly  seemed  so  in  his  case. 
Likewise,  I  know  not  precisely  how  often,  but 
complying  punctiliously  with  the  recipe,  as  an 
apothecary  naturally  would,  he  took  his  drop  of 
the  mysterious  cordial. 

He  was  inclined,  however,  to  impute  little  or 
no  efficacy  to  this,  and  to  laugh  at  himself  for 
having  ever  thought  otherwise.  The  dose  was 
so  very  minute  !  and  he  had  never  been  sensi 
ble  of  any  remarkable  effect  on  taking  it,  after 
all.  A  genial  warmth,  he  sometimes  fancied, 
diffused  itself  throughout  him,  and  perhaps  con 
tinued  during  the  next  day.  A  quiet  and  re 
freshing  night's  rest  followed,  and  alacritous 
waking  in  the  morning ;  but  all  this  was  far 
more  probably  owing,  as  has  been  already  hinted, 

50 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

to  excellent  and  well-considered  habits  of  diet 
and  exercise.  Nevertheless,  he  still  continued 
the  cordial  with  tolerable  regularity,  — the  more, 
because  on  one  or  two  occasions,  happening  to 
omit  it,  it  so  chanced  that  he  slept  wretchedly, 
and  awoke  in  strange  aches  and  pains,  torpors, 
nervousness,  shaking  of  the  hands,  blearedness 
of  sight,  lowness  of  spirits,  and  other  ills,  as  is 
the  misfortune  of  some  old  men,  who  are  often 
threatened  by  a  thousand  evil  symptoms  that 
come  to  nothing,  foreboding  no  particular  dis 
order,  and  passing  away  as  unsatisfactorily  as 
they  come.  At  another  time,  he  took  two  or 
three  drops  at  once,  and  was  alarmingly  fever 
ish  in  consequence.  Yet  it  was  very  true,  that 
the  feverish  symptoms  were  pretty  sure  to  dis 
appear  on  his  renewal  of  the  medicine.  "  Still 
it  could  not  be  that,"  thought  the  old  man,  a 
hater  of  empiricism  (in  which,  however,  is  con 
tained  all  hope  for  man),  and  disinclined  to  be 
lieve  in  anything  that  was  not  according  to  rule 
and  art.  And  then,  as  aforesaid,  the  dose  was 
so  ridiculously  small  ! 

Sometimes,  however,  he  took,  half  laughingly, 
another  view  of  it,  and  felt  disposed  to  think 
that  chance  might  really  have  thrown  in  his  way 
a  very  remarkable  mixture,  by  which,  if  it  had 
happened  to  him  earlier  in  life,  he  might  have 
amassed  a  larger  fortune,  and  might  even  have 
raked  together  such  a  competency  as  would  have 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

prevented  his  feeling  much  uneasiness  about  the 
future  of  little  Pansie.  Feeling  as  strong  as  he 
did  nowadays,  he  might  reasonably  count  upon 
ten  years  more  of  life,  and  in  that  time  the  pre 
cious  liquor  might  be  exchanged  for  much  gold. 
"  Let  us  see  !  "  quoth  he  ;  "  by  what  attractive 
name  shall  it  be  advertised  ?  £  The  old  man's 
cordial '  ?  That  promises  too  little.  Poh,  poh  ! 
I  would  stain  my  honesty,  my  fair  reputation, 
the  accumulation  of  a  lifetime,  and  befool  my 
neighbor  and  the  public,  by  any  name  that  would 
make  them  imagine  I  had  found  that  ridiculous 
talisman  that  the  alchemists  have  sought.  The 
old  man's  cordial,  —  that  is  best.  And  five  shil 
lings  sterling  the  bottle.  That  surely  were  not 
too  costly,  and  would  give  the  medicine  a  better 
reputation  and  higher  vogue  (so  foolish  is  the 
world)  than  if  I  were  to  put  it  lower.  I  will 
think  further  of  this.  But  pshaw,  pshaw  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  grandpapa?  "  said  little 
Pansie,  who  had  stood  by  him,  wishing  to  speak 
to  him  at  least  a  minute,  but  had  been  deterred 
by  his  absorption ;  "  why  do  you  say c  Pshaw '  ?  " 

"  Pshaw !  "  repeated  grandpapa,  "  there  is  one 
ingredient  that  I  don't  know." 

So  this  very  hopeful  design  was  necessarily 
given  up,  but  that  it  had  occurred  to  Dr.  Dol- 
liver  was  perhaps  a  token  that  his  mind  was  in 
a  very  vigorous  state  ;  for  it  had  been  noted  of 
him  through  life,  that  he  had  little  enterprise, 

52 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

little  activity,  and  that,  for  the  want  of  these 
things,  his  very  considerable  skill  in  his  art  had 
been  almost  thrown  away,  as  regarded  his  pri 
vate  affairs,  when  it  might  easily  have  led  him 
to  fortune.  Whereas,  here  in  his  extreme  age, 
he  had  first  bethought  himself  of  a  way  to  grow 
rich.  Sometimes  this  latter  spring  causes  —  as 
blossoms  come  on  the  autumnal  tree  —  a  spurt 
of  vigor,  or  untimely  greenness,  when  Nature 
laughs  at  her  old  child,  half  in  kindness  and 
half  in  scorn.  It  is  observable,  however,  I  fancy, 
that  after  such  a  spurt,  age  comes  on  with  re 
doubled  speed,  and  that  the  old  man  has  only 
run  forward  with  a  show  of  force,  in  order  to 
fall  into  his  grave  the  sooner. 

Sometimes  as  he  was  walking  briskly  along 
die  street,  with  little  Pansie  clasping  his  hand, 
and  perhaps  frisking  rather  more  than  became  a 
person  of  his  venerable  years,  he  had  met  the 
grim  old  wreck  of  Colonel  Dabney,  moving 
goutily,  and  gathering  wrath  anew  with  every 
touch  of  his  painful  foot  to  the  ground  ;  or  driv 
ing  by  in  his  carriage,  showing  an  ashen,  angry, 
wrinkled  face  at  the  window,  and  frowning  at 
him — the -apothecary  thought  —  with  a  pecul 
iar  fury,  as  if  he  took  umbrage  at  his  audacity 
in  being  less  broken  by  age  than  a  gentleman 
like  himself.  The  apothecary  could  not  help 
feeling  as  if  there  were  some  unsettled  quarrel 
or  dispute  between  himself  and  the  Colonel,  he 

53 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

could  not  tell  what  or  why.  The  Colonel  always 
gave  him  a  haughty  nod  of  half-recognition  ; 
and  the  people  in  the  street,  to  whom  he  was 
a  familiar  object,  would  say,  "The  worshipful 
Colonel  begins  to  find  himself  mortal  like  the 
rest  of  us.  He  feels  his  years."  "  He  'd  be 
glad,  I  warrant,"  said  one,  "  to  change  with  you, 
Doctor.  It  shows  what  difference  a  good  life 
makes  in  men,  to  look  at  him  and  you.  You 
are  half  a  score  of  years  his  elder,  methinks,  and 
yet  look  what  temperance  can  do  for  a  man. 
By  my  credit,  neighbor,  seeing  how  brisk  you 
have  been  lately,  I  told  my  wife  you  seemed 
to  be  growing  younger.  It  does  me  good  to 
see  it.  We  are  about  of  an  age,  I  think,  and  I 
like  to  notice  how  we  old  men  keep  young  and 
keep  one  another  in  heart.  I  myself — ahem 
—  ahem  —  feel  younger  this  season  than  for 
these  five  years  past." 

"  It  rejoices  me  that  you  feel  so,"  quoth  the 
apothecary,  who  had  just  been  thinking  that  this 
neighbor  of  his  had  lost  a  great  deal,  both  in 
mind  and  body,  within  a  short  period,  and  rather 
scorned  him  for  it.  "  Indeed,  I  find  old  age 
less  uncomfortable  than  I  supposed.  Little 
Pansie  and  I  make  excellent  companions  for 
one  another." 

And  then,  dragged  along  by  Pansie's  little 
hand,  and  also  impelled  by  a  certain  alacrity  that 
rose  with  him  in  the  morning,  and  lasted  till  his 

54 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

healthy  rest  at  night,  he  bade  farewell  to  his  con 
temporary,  and  hastened  on  ;  while  the  latter, 
left  behind,  was  somewhat  irritated  as  he  looked 
at  the  vigorous  movement  of  the  apothecary's 
legs. 

"  He  need  not  make  such  a  show  of  brisk 
ness,  neither,"  muttered  he  to  himself.  "  This 
touch  of  rheumatism  troubles  me  a  bit  just  now ; 
but  try  it  on  a  good  day,  and  I  'd  walk  with  him 
for  a  shilling.  Pshaw  !  I  '11  walk  to  his  funeral 
yet." 

One  day,  while  the  Doctor,  with  the  activity 
that  bestirred  itself  in  him  nowadays,  was  mix 
ing  and  manufacturing  certain  medicaments  that 
came  in  frequent  demand,  a  carriage  stopped  at 
his  door,  and  he  recognized  the  voice  of  Colonel 
Dabney,  talking  in  his  customary  stern  tone  to 
the  woman  who  served  him.  And,  a  moment 
afterwards,  the  coach  drove  away,  and  he  actu 
ally  heard  the  old  dignitary  lumbering  upstairs, 
and  bestowing  a  curse  upon  each  particular  step, 
as  if  that  were  the  method  to  make  them  soften 
and  become  easier  when  he  should  come  down 
again.  "  Pray,  your  worship,"  said  the  Doc 
tor  from  above,  "  let  me  attend  you  below 
stairs." 

"  No,"  growled  the  Colonel,  "  I  '11  meet  you 
on  your  own  ground.  I  can  climb  a  stair  yet, 
and  be  hanged  to  you." 

55 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

So  saying,  he  painfully  finished  the  ascent, 
and  came  into  the  laboratory,  where  he  let  him 
self  fall  into  the  Doctor's  easy-chair,  with  an 
anathema  on  the  chair,  the  Doctor,  and  himself; 
and,  staring  round  through  the  dusk,  he  met 
the  wide-open,  startled  eyes  of  little  Pansie,  who 
had  been  reading  a  gilt  picture  book  in  the 
corner. 

"  Send  away  that  child,  Dolliver !  "  cried  the 
Colonel  angrily.  "  Confound  her,  she  makes 
my  bones  ache.  I  hate  everything  young." 

"  Lord,  Colonel/'  the  poor  apothecary  ven 
tured  to  say,  "  there  must  be  young  people  in 
the  world  as  well  as  old  ones.  'T  is  my  mind, 
a  man's  grandchildren  keep  him  warm  round 
about  him.'* 

"  I  have  none,  and  want  none,"  sharply  re 
sponded  the  Colonel ;  "  and  as  for  young  peo 
ple,  let  me  be  one  of  them,  and  they  may  exist, 
otherwise  not.  It  is  a  cursed  bad  arrangement 
of  the  world,  that  there  are  young  and  old  here 
together." 

When  Pansie  had  gone  away,  which  she  did 
with  anything  but  reluctance,  having  a  natural 
antipathy  to  this  monster  of  a  Colonel,  the  latter 
personage  tapped  with  his  crutch-handled  cane 
on  a  chair  that  stood  near,  and  nodded  in  an  au 
thoritative  way  to  the  apothecary  to  sit  down  in 
it.  Dr.  Dolliver  complied  submissively,  and  the 
Colonel,  with  dull,  unkindly  eyes,  looked  at  him 

56 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

sternly,  and  with  a  kind  of  intelligence  amid  the 
aged  stolidity  of  his  aspect,  that  somewhat  puz 
zled  the  Doctor.  In  this  way  he  surveyed  him 
all  over,  like  a  judge,  when  he  means  to  hang 
a  man,  and  for  some  reason  or  none,  the  apothe 
cary  felt  his  nerves  shake,  beneath  this  steadfast 
look. 

"  Aha  !  Doctor  !  "  said  the  Colonel  at  last, 
with  a  doltish  sneer,  "  you  bear  your  years 
well." 

"  Decently  well,  Colonel ;  I  thank  Providence 
for  it,"  answered  the  meek  apothecary. 

"  I  should  say,"  quoth  the  Colonel,  "  you  are 
younger  at  this  moment  than  when  we  spoke 
together  two  or  three  years  ago.  I  noted  then 
that  your  eyebrows  were  a  handsome  snow- 
white,  such  as  befits  a  man  who  has  passed  be 
yond  his  threescore  years  and  ten,  and  five  years 
more.  Why,  they  are  getting  dark  again,  Mr. 
Apothecary." 

"  Nay,  your  worship  must  needs  be  mistaken 
there,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  a  timorous  chuckle. 
"  It  is  many  a  year  since  I  have  taken  a  delib 
erate  note  of  my  wretched  old  visage  in  a  glass, 
but  I  remember  they  were  white  when  I  looked 
last." 

"  Come,  Doctor,  I  know  a  thing  or  two,"  said 
the  Colonel,  with  a  bitter  scoff;  "and  what's 
this,  you  old  rogue  ?  Why,  you  Ve  rubbed 
away  a  wrinkle  since  we  met.  Take  off  those 

57 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

infernal  spectacles,  and  look  me  in  the  face.  Ha ! 
I  see  the  devil  in  your  eye.  How  dare  you  let 
it  shine  upon  me  so?" 

"  On  my  conscience.  Colonel,"  said  the  apoth 
ecary,  strangely  struck  with  the  coincidence  of 
this  accusation  with  little  Pansie's  complaint, 
"  I  know  not  what  you  mean.  My  sight  is 
pretty  well  for  a  man  of  my  age.  We  near 
sighted  people  begin  to  know  our  best  eyesight 
when  other  people  have  lost  theirs." 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  old  rogue  ! "  repeated  the  insuffer 
able  Colonel,  gnashing  his  ruined  teeth  at  him, 
as  if,  for  some  incomprehensible  reason,  he 
wished  to  tear  him  to  pieces  and  devour  him. 
"  I  know  you.  You  are  taking  the  life  away 
from  me,  villain  !  and  I  told  you  it  was  my  in 
heritance.  And  I  told  you  there  was  a  Bloody 
Footstep,  bearing  its  track  down  through  my 
race." 

"  I  remember  nothing  of  it,"  said  the  Doc 
tor,  in  a  quake,  sure  that  the  Colonel  was  in 
one  of  his  mad  fits.  "  And  on  the  word  of  an 
honest  man,  I  never  wronged  you  in  my  life. 
Colonel." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  the  Colonel,  whose 
wrinkled  visage  grew  absolutely  terrible  with 
its  hardness ;  and  his  dull  eyes,  without  losing 
their  dulness,  seemed  to  look  through  him. 

"  Listen  to  me,  sir.  Some  ten  years  ago, 
there  came  to  you  a  man  on  a  secret  business, 

58 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

He  had  an  old  musty  bit  of  parchment,  on 
which  were  written  some  words,  hardly  legible, 
in  an  antique  hand, —  an  old  deed,  it  might 
have  been,  —  some  family  document,  and  here 
and  there  the  letters  were  faded  away.  But 
this  man  had  spent  his  life  over  it,  and  he  had 
made  out  the  meaning,  and  he  interpreted  it  to 
you,  and  left  it  with  you;  only  there  was  one 
gap,  —  one  torn  or  obliterated  place.  Well, 
sir,  —  and  he  bade  you,  with  your  poor  little 
skill  at  the  mortar,  and  for  a  certain  sum, — 
ample  repayment  for  such  a  service,  —  to  manu 
facture  this  medicine,  —  this  cordial.  It  was  an 
Affair  of  months.  And  just  when  you  thought 
it  finished,  the  man  came  again,  and  stood  over 
your  cursed  beverage,  and  shook  a  powder,  or 
dropped  a  lump  into  it,  or  put  in  some  ingredi 
ent,  in  which  was  all  the  hidden  virtue,  —  or,  at 
least,  it  drew  out  all  the  hidden  virtue  of  the 
/nean  and  common  herbs,  and  married  them 
into  a  wondrous  efficacy.  This  done,  the  man 
bade  you  do  certain  other  things  with  the  pota- 
don,  and  went  away  "  —  the  Colonel  hesitated 
a  moment  —  "  and  never  came  back  again." 

"  Surely,  Colonel,  you  are  correct,"  said  the 
apothecary ;  much  startled,  however,  at  the 
Colonel's  showing  himself  so  well  acquainted 
with  an  incident  which  he  had  supposed  a  secret 
with  himself  alone.  Yet  he  had  a  little  reluc 
tance  in  owning  it,  although  he  did  not  exactly 

59 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

understand  why,  since  the  Colonel  had,  appar 
ently,  no  rightful  claim  to  it,  at  all  events. 

"  That  medicine,  that  receipt/'  continued  his 
visitor,  "  is  my  hereditary  property,  and  I  chal 
lenge  you,  on  your  peril,  to  give  it  up." 

"  But  what  if  the  original  owner  should  call 
upon  me  for  it?  "  objected  Dr.  Dolliver. 

"  I  '11  warrant  you  against  that,"  said  the 
Colonel ;  and  the  apothecary  thought  there  was 
something  ghastly  in  his  look  and  tone.  "  Why, 
't  is  ten  year,  you  old  fool  ;  and  do  you  think  a 
man  with  a  treasure  like  that  in  his  possession 
would  have  waited  so  long  ?  " 

"  Seven  years  it  was  ago,"  said  the  apothe 
cary.  "  Septem  annis  passatis  :  so  says  the 
Latin." 

"  Curse  your  Latin,"  answers  the  Colonel. 
"  Produce  the  stuff.  You  have  been  violating 
the  first  rule  of  your  trade,  —  taking  your  own 
drugs,  — your  own,  in  one  sense  ;  mine  by  the 
right  of  three  hundred  years.  Bring  it  forth,  I 
say  !  " 

"  Pray  excuse  me,  worthy  Colonel,"  pleaded 
the  apothecary ;  for  though  convinced  that  the 
old  gentleman  was  only  in  one  of  his  insane  fits, 
when  he  talked  of  the  value  of  this  concoction, 
yet  he  really  did  not  like  to  give  up  the  cordial, 
which  perhaps  had  wrought  him  some  benefit. 
Besides,  he  had  at  least  a  claim  upon  it  for 
much  trouble  and  skill  expended  in  its  compo- 

60 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

*ftion.  This  he  suggested  to  the  Colonel,  who 
scornfully  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  network 
purse,  with  more  golden  guineas  in  it  than  the 
apothecary  had  seen  in  the  whole  seven  years, 
and  was  rude  enough  to  fling  it  in  his  face. 
"  Take  that,"  thundered  he,  "  and  give  up  the 
thing,  or  I  will  have  you  in  prison  before  you 
are  an  hour  older  !  Nay,"  he  continued,  grow 
ing  pale,  which  was  his  mode  of  showing  terrible 
wrath  ;  since  all  through  life,  till  extreme  age 
quenched  it,  his  ordinary  face  had  been  a  blaz 
ing  red,  "  I  '11  put  you  to  death,  you  villain,  as 
I  Ve  a  right !  "  And  thrusting  his  hand  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  lo  !  the  madman  took  a  small 
pistol  from  it,  which  he  cocked,  and  presented  at 
the  poor  apothecary.  The  old  fellow  quaked 
and  cowered  in  his  chair,  and  would  indeed  have 
given  his  whole  shopful  of  better  concocted 
medicines  than  this,  to  be  out  of  this  danger. 
Besides,  there  were  the  guineas  ;  the  Colonel 
had  paid  him  a  princely  sum  for  what  was  prob 
ably  worth  nothing. 

"Hold!  hold!"  cried  he,  as  the  Colonel, 
with  stern  eye,  pointed  the  pistol  at  his  head. 
u  You  shall  have  it." 

So  he  rose  all  trembling,  and  crept  to  that 
secret  cupboard,  where  the  precious  bottle  — 
since  precious  it  seemed  to  be  —  was  reposited. 
In  all  his  life,  long  as  it  had  been,  the  apoth 
ecary  had  never  before  been  threatened  by  a 

61 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

deadly  weapon  ;  though  many  as  deadly  a  thing 
had  he  seen  poured  into  a  glass,  without  wink 
ing.  And  so  it  seemed  to  take  his  heart  and 
life  away,  and  he  brought  the  cordial  forth  feebly, 
and  stood  tremulously  before  the  Colonel5  ashy 
pale,  and  looking  ten  years  older  than  his  real 
age,  instead  of  five  years  younger,  as  he  had 
seemed  just  before  this  disastrous  interview  with 
the  Colonel. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  needed  a  drop  of  it 
yourself,"  said  Colonel  Dabney,  with  great 
scorn.  "  But  not  a  drop  shall  you  have.  Al 
ready  have  you  stolen  too  much,"  said  he,  lift 
ing  up  the  bottle,  and  marking  the  space  to 
which  the  liquor  had  subsided  in  it  in  conse 
quence  of  the  minute  doses  with  which  the 
apothecary  had  made  free.  "  Fool,  had  you 
taken  your  glass  like  a  man,  you  might  have 
been  young  again.  Now,  creep  on,  the  few 
months  you  have  left,  poor,  torpid  knave,  and 
die!  Come  —  a  goblet !  quick!" 

He  clutched  the  bottle  meanwhile  vora 
ciously,  miserly,  eagerly,  furiously,  as  if  it  were 
his  life  that  he  held  in  his  grasp ;  angry,  impa 
tient,  as  if  something  long  sought  were  within  his 
reach,  and  not  yet  secure,  —  with  longing  thirst 
and  desire  ;  suspicious  of  the  world  and  of  fate  ; 
feeling  as  if  an  iron  hand  were  over  him,  and 
a  crowd  of  violent  robbers  round  about  him, 
struggling  for  it.  At  last,  unable  to  wait  longer, 

62 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

just  as  the  apothecary  was  tottering  away  in 
quest  of  a  drinking  glass,  the  Colonel  took  out 
the  stopple,  and  lifted  the  flask  itself  to  his 
lips. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  no  !  "  cried  the  Doctor. 
"  The  dose  is  one  single  drop  !  —  one  drop, 
Colonel,  one  drop  !  " 

"  Not  a  drop  to  save  your  wretched  old  soul," 
responded  the  Colonel ;  probably  thinking  that 
the  apothecary  was  pleading  for  a  small  share 
of  the  precious  liquor.  He  put  it  to  his  lips, 
and,  as  if  quenching  a  lifelong  thirst,  swallowed 
deep  draughts,  sucking  it  in  with  desperation, 
till,  void  of  breath,  he  set  it  down  upon  the 
table.  The  rich,  poignant  perfume  spread  itself 
through  the  air. 

The  apothecary,  with  an  instinctive  careful 
ness  that  was  rather  ludicrous  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  caught  up  the  stopper,  which  the 
Colonel  had  let  fall,  and  forced  it  into  the  bot 
tle  to  prevent  any  further  escape  of  virtue.  He 
then  fearfully  watched  the  result  of  the  mad 
man's  potation. 

The  Colonel  sat  a  moment  in  his  chait-,  pant 
ing  for  breath  ;  then  started  to  his  feet  with  a 
prompt  vigor  that  contrasted  widely  with  the 
infirm  and  rheumatic  movements  that  had  here 
tofore  characterized  him.  He  struck  his  fore- 
nead  violently  with  one  hand,  and  smote  his 
chest  with  the  other ;  he  stamped  his  foot  thun- 

63 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

derously  on  the  ground ;  then  he  leaped  up  to 
the  ceiling,  and  came  down  with  an  elastic  bound. 
Then  he  laughed,  a  wild,  exulting  ha!  ha !  with 
a  strange  triumphant  roar  that  filled  the  house 
and  reechoed  through  it ;  a  sound  full  of  fierce, 
animal  rapture,  —  enjoyment  of  sensual  life 
mixed  up  with  a  sort  of  horror.  After  all,  real 
as  it  was,  it  was  like  the  sounds  a  man  makes  in 
a  dream.  And  this,  while  the  potent  draught 
seemed  still  to  be  making  its  way  through  his 
system ;  and  the  frightened  apothecary  thought 
that  he  intended  a  revengeful  onslaught  upon 
himself.  Finally,  he  uttered  a  loud  unearthly 
screech,  in  the  midst  of  which  his  voice  broke, 
as  if  some  unseen  hand  were  throttling  him,  and, 
starting  forward,  he  fought  frantically,  as  if  he 
would  clutch  the  life  that  was  being  rent  away, 
—  and  fell  forward  with  a  dead  thump  upon  the 
floor. 

"  Colonel  !  Colonel  !  "  cried  the  terrified 
Doctor. 

The  feeble  old  man,  with  difficulty,  turned 
over  the  heavy  frame,  and  saw  at  once,  with  prac 
tised  eye,  that  he  was  dead.  He  set  him  up,  and 
the  corpse  looked  at  him  with  angry  reproach. 
He  was  so  startled,  that  his  subsequent  recollec 
tions  of  the  moment  were  neither  distinct  nor 
steadfast;  but  he  fancied,  though  he  told  the 
strange  impression  to  no  one,  that  on  his  first 
glimpse  of  the  face,  with  a  dark  flush  of  what 

64 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

looked  like  rage  still  upon  it,  it  was  a  young 
man's  face  that  he  saw,  —  a  face  with  all  the  pas 
sionate  energy  of  early  manhood,  —  the  capacity 
for  furious  anger  which  the  man  had  lost  half  a 
century  ago,  crammed  to  the  brim  with  vigor  till 
it  became  agony.  But  the  next  moment,  if  it 
were  so  (which  it  could  not  have  been),  the  face 
grew  ashen,  withered,  shrunken,  more  aged  than 
in  life,  though  still  the  murderous  fierceness 
remained,  and  seemed  to  be  petrified  forever 
upon  it. 

After  a  moment's  bewilderment,  Dolliver  ran 
to  the  window  looking  to  the  street,  threw  it 
open,  and  called  loudly  for  assistance.  He 
opened  also  another  window,  for  the  air  to  blow 
through,  for  he  was  almost  stifled  with  the  rich 
odor  of  the  cordial  which  filled  the  room,  and 
was  now  exuded  from  the  corpse. 

He  heard  the  voice  of  Pansie,  crying  at  the 
door,  which  was  locked,  and,  turning  the  key, 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  hastened  with 
her  below  stairs,  to  give  her  into  the  charge  of 
Martha,  who  seemed  half  stupefied  with  a  sense 
of  something  awful  that  had  occurred. 

Meanwhile  there  was  a  rattling  and  a  banging 
at  the  street  portal,  to  which  several  people  had 
been  attracted  both  by  the  Doctor's  outcry  from 
the  window,  and  by  the  awful  screech  in  which 
the  Colonel's  spirit  (if,  indeed,  he  had  that  divine 
part)  had  just  previously  taken  its  flight. 

65 


THE  DOLLIVER  ROMANCE 

He  let  them  in,  and,  pale  and  shivering,  ush 
ered  them  up  to  the  death  chamber,  where  one 
or  two,  with  a  more  delicate  sense  of  smelling 
than  the  rest,  snuffed  the  atmosphere,  as  if  sen 
sible  of  an  unknown  fragrance,  yet  appeared 
afraid  to  breathe,  when  they  saw  the  terrific 
countenance  leaning  back  against  the  chair,  and 
eying  them  so  truculently. 

I  would  fain  quit  the  scene  and  have  done 
with  the  Colonel,  who,  I  am  glad,  has  happened 
to  die  at  so  early  a  period  of  the  narrative.  I 
therefore  hasten  to  say  that  a  coroner's  inquest 
was  held  on  the  spot,  though  everybody  felt 
that  it  was  merely  ceremonial,  and  that  the  tes 
timony  of  their  good  and  ancient  townsman,  Dr. 
Dolliver,  was  amply  sufficient  to  settle  the  mat 
ter.  The  verdict  was,  "  Death  by  the  visitation 
of  God." 

The  apothecary  gave  evidence  that  the  Colo 
nel,  without  asking  leave,  and  positively  against 
his  advice,  had  drunk  a  quantity  of  distilled 
spirits ;  and  one  or  two  servants,  or  members 
of  the  Colonel's  family,  testified  that  he  had  been 
in  a  very  uncomfortable  state  of  mind  for  some 
days  past,  so  that  they  fancied  he  was  insane. 
Therefore  nobody  thought  of  blaming  Dr.  Dol 
liver  for  what  had  happened ;  and,  if  the  plain 
truth  must  be  told,  everybody  who  saw  the 
wretch  was  too  well  content  to  be  rid  of  him,  to 
trouble  themselves  more  than  was  quite  neces- 

66 


ANOTHER  FRAGMENT 

sary  about  the  way  in  which  the  incumbrance 
had  been  removed. 

The  corpse  was  taken  to  the  mansion  in  order 
to  receive  a  magnificent  funeral ;  and  Dr.  Dol- 
liver  was  left  outwardly  in  quiet,  but  much  dis 
turbed,  and  indeed  almost  overwhelmed  in 
wardly,  by  what  had  happened.  Yet  it  is  to  be 
observed,  that  he  had  accounted  for  the  death 
with  a  singular  dexterity  of  expression,  when  he 
attributed  it  to  a  dose  of  distilled  spirits.  What 
kind  of  distilled  spirits  were  those,  Doctor  ?  and 
will  you  venture  to  take  any  more  of  them  ? 

67 


SEPTIMIUS   FELTON 

OR,   THE    ELIXIR    OF    LIFE 

IT  was  a  day  in  early  spring ;  and  as  that 
sweet,  genial  time  of  year  and  atmosphere 
calls  out  tender  greenness  from  the  ground, 
—  beautiful  flowers,  or  leaves  that  look  beauti 
ful  because  so  long  unseen  under  the  snow  and 
decay, —  so  the  pleasant  air  and  warmth  had 
called  out  three  young  people,  who  sat  on  a 
sunny  hillside  enjoying  the  warm  day  and  one 
another.  For  they  were  all  friends :  two  of 
them  young  men,  and  playmates  from  boy 
hood  ;  the  third  a  girl,  who,  two  or  three  years 
younger  than  themselves,  had  been  the  object 
of  their  boy  love,  their  little  rustic,  childish  gal 
lantries,  their  budding  affections  ;  until,  grow 
ing  all  towards  manhood  and  womanhood,  they 
had  ceased  to  talk  about  such  matters,  perhaps 
thinking  about  them  the  more. 

These  three  young  people  were  neighbors* 
children,  dwelling  in  houses  that  stood  by  the 
side  of  the  great  Lexington  road,  along  a  ridgy 
hill  that  rose  abruptly  behind  them,  its  brow 
covered  with  a  wood,  and  which  stretched,  with 
one  or  two  breaks  and  interruptions,  into  the 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

heart  of  the  village  of  Concord,  the  county 
town.  It  was  in  the  side  of  this  hill  that,  ac 
cording  to  tradition,  the  first  settlers  of  the 
village  had  burrowed  in  caverns  which  they 
had  dug  out  for  their  shelter,  like  swallows 
and  woodchucks.  As  its  slope  was  towards  the 
south,  and  its  ridge  and  crowning  woods  de 
fended  them  from  the  northern  blasts  and 
snowdrifts,  it  was  an  admirable  situation  for 
the  fierce  New  England  winter ;  and  the  tem 
perature  was  milder,  by  several  degrees,  along 
this  hillside  than  on  the  unprotected  plains,  or 
by  the  river,  or  in  any  other  part  of  Concord. 
So  that  here,  during  the  hundred  years  that 
had  elapsed  since  the  first  settlement  of  the 
place,  dwellings  had  successively  risen  close  to 
the  hill's  foot,  and  the  meadow  that  lay  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road  —  a  fertile  tract  —  had 
been  cultivated ;  and  these  three  young  people 
were  the  children's  children's  children  of  per 
sons  of  respectability  who  had  dwelt  there,  — 
Rose  Garfield,  in  a  small  house,  the  site  of 
which  is  still  indicated  by  the  cavity  of  a  cellar, 
in  which  I  this  very  past  summer  planted  some 
sunflowers  to  thrust  their  great  disks  out  from 
the  hollow  and  allure  the  bee  and  the  hum 
ming  bird ;  Robert  Hagburn,  in  a  house  of 
somewhat  more  pretension,  a  hundred  yards  or 
so  nearer  to  the  village,  standing  back  from  the 
road  in  the  broader  space  which  the  retreating 

70 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

hill,  cloven  by  a  gap  in  that  place,  afforded ; 
where  some  elms  intervened  between  it  and  the 
road,  offering  a  site  which  some  person  of  a 
natural  taste  for  the  gently  picturesque  had 
seized  upon.  Those  same  elms,  or  their  suc 
cessors,  still  flung  a  noble  shade  over  the  same 
old  house,  which  the  magic  hand  of  Alcott  has 
improved  by  the  touch  that  throws  grace,  ami- 
ableness,  and  natural  beauty  over  scenes  that 
have  little  pretension  in  themselves. 

Now,  the  other  young  man,  Septimius  Fel- 
ton,  dwelt  in  a  small  wooden  house,  then,  I 
suppose,  of  some  score  of  years'  standing,  —  a 
two-story  house,  gabled  before,  but  with  only 
two  rooms  on  a  floor,  crowded  upon  by  the 
hill  behind,  —  a  house  of  thick  walls,  as  if  the 
projector  had  that  sturdy  feeling  of  permanence 
in  life  which  incites  people  to  make  strong  their 
earthly  habitations,  as  if  deluding  themselves 
with  the  idea  that  they  could  still  inhabit  them  ; 
in  short,  an  ordinary  dwelling  of  a  well-to-do 
New  England  farmer,  such  as  his  race  had  been 
for  two  or  three  generations  past,  although 
there  were  traditions  of  ancestors  who  had  led 
lives  of  thought  and  study,  and  possessed  all 
the  erudition  that  the  universities  of  England 
could  bestow.  Whether  any  natural  turn  for 
study  had  descended  to  Septimius  from  these 
worthies,  or  how  his  tendencies  came  to  be  dif 
ferent  from  those  of  his  family,  —  who,  within 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

the  memory  of  the  neighborhood,  had  been 
content  to  sow  and  reap  the  rich  field  in  front 
of  their  homestead,  —  so  it  was,  that  Septimius 
had  early  manifested  a  taste  for  study.  By  the 
kind  aid  of  the  good  minister  of  the  town  he 
had  been  fitted  for  college  ;  had  passed  through 
Cambridge  by  means  of  what  little  money  his 
father  had  left  him  and  by  his  own  exertions  in 
schoolkeeping  ;  and  was  now  a  recently  deco 
rated  baccalaureate,  with,  as  was  understood,  a 
purpose  to  devote  himself  to  the  ministry,  un 
der  the  auspices  of'  that  reverend  and  good 
friend  whose  support  and  instruction  had  al 
ready  stood  him  in  such  stead. 

Now  here  were  these  young  people,  on  that 
beautiful  spring  morning,  sitting  on  the  hill 
side,  a  pleasant  spectacle  of  fresh  life,  —  plea 
sant,  as  if  they  had  sprouted  like  green  things 
under  the  influence  of  the  warm  sun.  The  girl 
was  very  pretty,  a  little  freckled,  a  little  tanned, 
but  with  a  face  that  glimmered  and  gleamed 
with  quick  and  cheerful  expressions  ;  a  slender 
form,  not  very  large,  with  a  quick  grace  in  its 
movements ;  sunny  hair  that  had  a  tendency  to 
curl,  which  she  probably  favored  at  such  mo 
ments  as  her  household  occupation  left  her ;  a 
sociable  and  pleasant  child,  as  both  of  the  young 
men  evidently  thought.  Robert  Hagburn,  one 
might  suppose,  would  have  been  the  most  to 

72 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

her  taste :  a  ruddy,  burly  young  fellow,  hand 
some,  and  free  of  manner,  six  feet  high,  famous 
through  the  neighborhood  for  strength  and 
athletic  skill,  the  early  promise  of  what  was  to 
be  a  man  fit  for  all  offices  of  active  rural  life, 
and  to  be,  in  mature  age,  the  selectman,  the 
deacon,  the  representative,  the  colonel.  As  for 
Septimius,  let  him  alone  a  moment  or  two,  and 
then  they  would  see  him,  with  his  head  bent 
down,  brooding,  brooding,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
some  chip,  some  stone,  some  common  plant, 
any  commonest  thing,  as  if  it  were  the  clew  and 
index  to  some  mystery  ;  and  when,  by  chance 
startled  out  of  these  meditations,  he  lifted  his 
eyes,  there  \vould  be  a  kind  of  perplexity,  a 
dissatisfied,  foiled  look  in  them,  as  if  of  his 
speculations  he  found  no  end.  Such  was  now 
the  case,  while  Robert  and  the  girl  were  run 
ning  on  with  a  gay  talk  about  a  serious  sub 
ject,  so  that,  gay  as  it  was,  it  was  interspersed 
with  little  thrills  of  fear  on  the  girl's  part,  of 
excitement  on  Robert's.  Their  talk  was  of 
public  trouble. 

"  My  grandfather  says,"  said  Rose  Garfield, 
"  that  we  shall  never  be  able  to  stand  against 
old  England,  because  the  men  are  a  weaker 
race  than  he  remembers  in  his  day,  —  weaker 
than  his  father,  who  came  from  England, - 
and  the  women  slighter  still ;  so  that  we  are 

73 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

dwindling  away,  grandfather  thinks  ;  only  a  lit 
tle  sprightlier,  he  says  sometimes,  looking  at 
me." 

"  Lighter,  to  be  sure,"  said  Robert  Hagburn  ; 
"  there  is  the  lightness  of  the  Englishwomen 
compressed  into  little  space.  I  have  seen  them 
and  know.  And  as  to  the  men,  Rose,  if  they 
have  lost  one  spark  of  courage  and  strength 
that  their  English  forefathers  brought  from  the 
old  land,  —  lost  any  one  good  quality  without 
having  it  made  up  by  as  good  or  better,  —  then, 
for  my  part,  I  don't  want  the  breed  to  exist  any 
longer.  And  this  war,  that  they  say  is  coming 
on,  will  be  a  good  opportunity  to  test  the  mat 
ter.  Septimius  !  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Think  what  ?  "  asked  Septimius  gravely, 
lifting  up  his  head. 

cc  Think  !  why,  that  your  countrymen  are 
worthy  to  live,"  said  Robert  Hagburn  impa 
tiently.  "  For  there  is  a  question  on  that 
point." 

"  It  is  hardly  worth  answering  or  consider 
ing,"  said  Septimius,  looking  at  him  thought 
fully.  "  We  live  so  little  while,  that  (always 
setting  aside  the  effect  on  a  future  existence)  it 
is  little  matter  whether  we  live  or  no." 

"  Little  matter  !  "  said  Rose,  at  first  bewil 
dered,  then  laughing,  —  "  little  matter  !  when  it 
is  such  a  comfort  to  live,  so  pleasant,  so  sweet !  " 

"  Yes,  and  so  many  things  to  do,"  said  Rob- 
74 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ert :  "  to  make  fields  yield  produce  ;  to  be  busy 
among  men,  and  happy  among  the  women  folk ; 
to  play,  work,  fight,  and  be  active  in  many 
ways." 

"  Yes  ;  but  so  soon  stilled,  before  your  activ 
ity  has  come  to  any  definite  end,"  responded 
Septimius  gloomily.  "  I  doubt,  if  it  had  been 
left  to  my  choice,  whether  I  should  have  taken 
existence  on  such  terms  ;  so  much  trouble  of 
preparation  to  live,  and  then  no  life  at  all ;  a 
ponderous  beginning,  and  nothing  more." 

"  Do  you  find  fault  with  Providence,  Septi 
mius  ?  "  asked  Rose,  a  feeling  of  solemnity  com 
ing  over  her  cheerful  and  buoyant  nature.  Then 
she  burst  out  a-laughing.  "How  grave  he 
looks,  Robert ;  as  if  he  had  lived  two  or  three 
lives  already,  and  knew  all  about  the  value  of  it. 
But  I  think  it  was  worth  while  to  be  born,  if 
only  for  the  sake  of  one  such  pleasant  spring 
morning  as  this ;  and  God  gives  us  many  and 
better  things  when  these  are  past." 

"  We  hope  so,"  said  Septimius,  who  was 
again  looking  on  the  ground.  "  But  who 
knows  r  " 

"  I  thought  you  knew,"  said  Robert  Hag- 
burn.  "  You  have  been  to  college,  and  have 
learned,  no  doubt,  a  great  many  things.  You 
are  a  student  of  theology,  too,  and  have  looked 
into  these  matters.  Who  should  know,  if  not 
you  ?  " 

75 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  Rose  and  you  have  just  as  good  means  of 
ascertaining  these  points  as  I,"  said  Septimius  ; 
"  all  the  certainty  that  can  be  had  lies  on  the 
surface,  as  it  should,  and  equally  accessible  to 
every  man  or  woman.  If  we  try  to  grope  deeper, 
we  labor  for  naught,  and  get  less  wise  while  we 
try  to  be  more  so.  If  life  were  long  enough  to 
enable  us  thoroughly  to  sift  these  matters,  then, 
indeed  !  —  but  it  is  so  short !  " 

"  Always  this  same  complaint,'*  said  Robert. 
"  Septimius,  how  long  do  you  wish  to  live  ?  " 

"  Forever  !  "  said  Septimius.  "  It  is  none  too 
long  for  all  I  wish  to  know." 

"  Forever?''  exclaimed  Rose,  shivering  doubt 
fully.  "Ah,  there  would  come  many,  many 
thoughts,  and  after  a  while  we  should  want  a 
little  rest." 

"  Forever  ?  "  said  Robert  Hagburn.  "  And 
what  would  the  people  do  who  wish  to  fill  our 
places  ?  You  are  unfair,  Septimius.  Live  and 
let  live  !  Turn  about !  Give  me  my  seventy 
years,  and  let  me  go,  —  my  seventy  years  of  what 
this  life  has,  —  toil,  enjoyment,  suffering,  strug 
gle,  fight,  rest,  —  only  let  me  have  my  share  of 
what's  going,  and  I  shall  be  content." 

"  Content  with  leaving  everything  at  odd 
ends  ;  content  with  being  nothing,  as  you  were 
before  ! " 

"  No,  Septimius,  content  with  heaven  at 
last,"  said  Rose,  who  had  come  out  of  her 

76 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

laughing  mood  into  a  sweet  seriousness.  "  O 
dear !  think  what  a  worn  and  ugly  thing  one  of 
these  fresh  little  blades  of  grass  would  seem  if 
it  were  not  to  fade  and  wither  in  its  time,  after 
being  green  in  its  time." 

"  Well,  well,  my  pretty  Rose,"  said  Septimius 
apart,  "an  immortal  weed  is  not  very  lovely 
;o  think  of,  that  is  true  ;  but  I  should  be  content 
with  one  thing,  and  that  is  yourself,  if  you  were 
immortal,  just  as  you  are  at  seventeen,  so  fresh, 
so  dewy,  so  red-lipped,  so  golden-haired,  so  gay, 
so  frolicsome,  so  gentle." 

"  But  I  am  to  grow  old,  and  to  be  brown 
and  wrinkled,  gray-haired  and  ugly,"  said  Rose 
rather  sadly,  as  she  thus  enumerated  the  items 
of  her  decay,  "  and  then  you  would  think  me 
all  lost  and  gone.  But  still  there  might  be 
youth  underneath,  for  one  that  really  loved  me 
to  see.  Ah,  Septimius  Felton  !  such  love  as 
would  see  with  ever  new  eyes  is  the  true  love." 
And  she  ran  away  and  left  him  suddenly,  and 
Robert  Hagburn  departing  at  the  same  time, 
this  little  knot  of  three  was  dissolved,  and  Sep 
timius  went  along  the  wayside  wall,  thought 
fully,  as  was  his  wont,  to  his  own  dwelling.  He 
had  stopped  for  some  moments  on  the  thresh 
old,  vaguely  enjoying,  it  is  probable,  the  light 
and  warmth  of  the  new  spring  day  and  the 
sweet  air,  which  was  somewhat  unwonted  to  the 
young  man,  because  he  was  accustomed  to  spend 

77 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

much  of  his  day  in  thought  and  study  within 
doors,  and,  indeed,  like  most  studious  young 
men,  was  overfond  of  the  fireside,  and  of  mak 
ing  life  as  artificial  as  he  could,  by  fireside  heat 
and  lamplight,  in  order  to  suit  it  to  the  artificial, 
intellectual,  and  moral  atmosphere  which  he  de 
rived  from  books,  instead  of  living  healthfully 
in  the  open  air,  and  among  his  fellow  beings. 
Still  he  felt  the  pleasure  of  being  warmed  through 
by  this  natural  heat,  and,  though  blinking  a 
little  from  its  superfluity,  could  not  but  confess 
an  enjoyment  and  cheerfulness  in  this  flood 
of  morning  light  that  came  aslant  the  hillside. 
While  he  thus  stood,  he  felt  a  friendly  hand  laid 
upon  his  shoulder,  and,  looking  up,  there  was 
the  minister  of  the  village,  the  old  friend  of 
Septimius,  to  whose  advice  and  aid  it  was  ow 
ing  that  Septimius  had  followed  his  instincts  by 
going  to  college,  instead  of  spending  a  thwarted 
and  dissatisfied  life  in  the  field  that  fronted  the 
house.  He  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  or  little 
beyond,  of  a  sagacious,  kindly  aspect ;  the  ex 
perience,  the  lifelong,  intimate  acquaintance  with 
many  concerns  of  his  people  being  more  ap 
parent  in  him  than  the  scholarship  for  which 
he  had.  been  early  distinguished.  A  tanned 
man,  like  one  who  labored  in  his  own  grounds 
occasionally  ;  a  man  of  homely,  plain  address, 
which,  when  occasion  called  for  it,  he  could 
readily  exchange  for  the  polished  manner  of  one 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

who  had  seen  a  more  refined  world  than  this 
about  him. 

"  Well,  Septimius,"  said  the  minister  kindly, 
"  have  you  yet  come  to  any  conclusion  about 
the  subject  of  which  we  have  been  talking?  " 

"  Only  so  far,  sir,"  replied  Septimius,  "  that 
I  find  myself  every  day  less  inclined  to  take  up 
the  profession  which  I  have  had  in  view  so  many 
years.  I  do  not  think  myself  fit  for  the  sacred 
desk." 

"  Surely  not ;  no  one  is,"  replied  the  clergy 
man  ;  "  but  if  I  may  trust  my  own  judgment, 
you  have  at  least  many  of  the  intellectual  quali 
fications  that  should  adapt  you  to  it.  There  is 
something  of  the  Puritan  character  in  you,  Sep 
timius,  derived  from  holy  men  among  your  an 
cestors  ;  as,  for  instance,  a  deep,  brooding  turn, 
such  as  befits  that  heavy  brow ;  a  disposition  to 
meditate  on  things  hidden  ;  a  turn  for  medita 
tive  inquiry,  —  ail  these  things,  with  grace  to 
boot,  mark  you  as  the  germ  of  a  man  who  might 
do  God  service.  Your  reputation  as  a  scholar 
stands  high  at  college.  You  have  not  a  turn 
for  worldly  business." 

"Ah,  but,  sir,"  said  Septimius,  casting  down 
his  heavy  brows,  "  I  lack  something  within." 

"  Faith,  perhaps,"  replied  the  minister  ;  "  at 
least,  you  think  so." 

"  Cannot  I  know  it  ?  "  asked  Septimius. 

"  Scarcely,  just  now,"  said  his  friend.  "  Study 
79 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

for  the  ministry  ;  bind  your  thoughts  to  it ; 
pray  ;  ask  a  belief,  and  you  will  soon  find  you 
have  it.  Doubts  may  occasionally  press  in  ; 
and  it  is  so  with  every  clergyman.  But  your 
prevailing  mood  will  be  faith/' 

"  It  has  seemed  to  me,"  observed  Septimius, 
"  that  it  is  not  the  prevailing  mood,  the  most 
common  one,  that  is  to  be  trusted.  This  is 
habit,  formality,  the  shallow  covering  which  we 
close  over  what  is  real,  and  seldom  suffer  to  be 
blown  aside.  But  it  is  the  snakelike  doubt  that 
thrusts  out  its  head,  which  gives  us  a  glimpse 
of  reality.  Surely  such  moments  are  a  hundred 
times  as  real  as  the  dull,  quiet  moments  of  faith 
or  what  you  call  such." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  the  minister;  "  yet 
to  a  youth  of  your  frame  of  character,  of  your 
ability  I  will  say,  and  your  requisition  for  some 
thing  profound  in  the  grounds  of  your  belief,  it 
is  not  unusual  to  meet  this  trouble.  Men  like 
you  have  to  fight  for  their  faith.  They  fight  in 
the  first  place  to  win  it,  and  ever  afterwards  to 
hold  it.  The  Devil  tilts  with  them  daily,  and 
often  seems  to  win." 

"  Yes  ;  but,"  replied  Septimius,  "  he  takes 
deadly  weapons  now.  If  he  meet  me  with  the 
cold  pure  steel  of  a  spiritual  argument,  I  might 
win  or  lose,  and  still  not  feel  that  all  was  lost ; 
but  he  takes,  as  it  were,  a  great  clod  of  earth, 
massive  rocks  and  mud,  soil  and  dirt,  and  flings 

80 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

it  at  me  overwhelmingly  ;  so  that  I  am  buried 
under  it.'* 

"  How  is  that?  "  said  the  minister.  "  Tell 
me  more  plainly." 

"  May  it  not  be  possible,"  asked  Septimius, 
"  to  have  too  profound  a  sense  of  the  marvel 
lous  contrivance  and  adaptation  of  this  material 
world  to  require  or  believe  in  anything  spiritual  ? 
How  wonderful  it  is  to  see  it  all  alive  on  this 
spring  day,  all  growing,  budding  !  Do  we  ex 
haust  it  in  our  little  life  ?  Not  so ;  not  in  a 
hundred  or  a  thousand  lives.  The  whole  race 
of  man,  living  from  the  beginning  of  time,  have 
not,  in  all  their  number  and  multiplicity  and  in 
all  their  duration,  come  in  the  least  to  know  the 
world  they  live  in  !  And  how  is  this  rich  world 
thrown  away  upon  us,  because  we  live  in  it  such 
a  moment  !  What  mortal  work  has  ever  been 
done  since  the  world  began  !  Because  we  have 
no  time.  No  lesson  is  taught.  We  are  snatched 
away  from  our  study  before  we  have  learned  the 
alphabet.  As  the  world  now  exists,  I  confess 
it  to  you  frankly,  my  dear  pastor  and  instructor, 
it  seems  to  me  all  a  failure,  because  we  do  not 
live  long  enough." 

"  But  the  lesson  is  carried  on  in  another  state 
of  being  !  " 

"  Not  the  lesson  that  we  begin  here,"  said 
Septimius.  "  We  might  as  well  train  a  child  in 
a  primeval  forest,  to  teach  him  how  to  live  in  a 

81 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

European  court.  No,  the  fall  of  man,  which 
Scripture  tells  us  of,  seems  to  me  to  have  its 
operation  in  this  grievous  shortening  of  earthly 
existence,  so  that  our  life  here  at  all  is  grown 
ridiculous." 

"  Well,  Septimius,"  replied  the  minister  sadly, 
yet  not  as  one  shocked  by  what  he  had  never 
heard  before,  "  I  must  leave  you  to  struggle 
through  this  form  of  unbelief  as  best  you  may, 
knowing  that  it  is  by  your  own  efforts  that  you 
must  come  to  the  other  side  of  this  slough. 
We  will  talk  further  another  time.  You  are  get 
ting  worn  out,  my  young  friend,  with  much 
study  and  anxiety.  It  were  well  for  you  to  live 
more,  for  the  present,  in  this  earthly  life  that 
you  prize  so  highly.  Cannot  you  interest  your 
self  in  the  state  of  this  country,  in  this  coming 
strife,  the  voice  of  which  now  sounds  so  hoarsely 
and  so  near  us  ?  Come  out  of  your  thoughts 
and  breathe  another  air." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Septimius. 

"  Do,"  said  the  minister,  extending  his  hand 
to  him,  cc  and  in  a  little  time  you  will  find  the 
change." 

He  shook  the  young  man's  hand  kindly,  and 
took  his  leave,  while  Septimius  entered  his 
house,  and  turning  to  the  right  sat  down  in  his 
study,  where,  before  the  fireplace,  stood  the 
table  with  books  and  papers.  On  the  shelves 
around  the  low-studded  walls  were  more  books, 

82 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

few  in  number,  but  of  an  erudite  appearance, 
many  of  them  having  descended  to  him  from 
learned  ancestors,  and  having  been  brought  to 
light  by  himself  after  long  lying  in  dusty  closets  ; 
works  of  good  and  learned  divines,  whose  wis 
dom  he  had  happened,  by  help  of  the  Devil,  to 
turn  to  mischief,  reading  them  by  the  light  of 
hell  fire.  For,  indeed,  Septimius  had  but  given 
the  clergyman  the  merest  partial  glimpse  of  his 
state  of  mind.  He  was  not  a  new  beginner  in 
doubt ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  had  never  been  other  than  a  doubter 
and  questioner,  even  in  his  boyhood  ;  believing 
nothing,  although  a  thin  veil  of  reverence  had 
kept  him  from  questioning  some  things.  And 
now  the  new,  strange  thought  of  the  sufficiency 
of  the  world  for  man,  if  man  were  only  sufficient 
for  that,  kept  recurring  to  him  ;  and  with  it 
came  a  certain  sense,  which  he  had  been  con 
scious  of  before,  that  he,  at  least,  might  never  die. 
The  feeling  was  not  peculiar  to  Septimius.  It  is 
an  instinct,  the  meaning  of  which  is  mistaken. 
We  have  strongly  within  us  the  sense  of  an  un 
dying  principle,  and  we  transfer  that  true  sense 
to  this  life  and  to  the  body,  instead  of  interpret 
ing  it  justly  as  the  promise  of  spiritual  immor 
tality. 

So  Septimius  looked  up  out  of  his  thoughts, 
and  said  proudly  :  "  Why  should  I  die  ?  I 
cannot  die,  if  worthy  to  live.  What  if  I  should 

83 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

say  this  moment  that  I  will  not  die,  not  till  ages 
hence,  not  till  the  world  is  exhausted  ?  Let 
other  men  die,  if  they  choose,  or  yield  ;  let  him 
that  is  strong  enough  live  !  " 

After  this  flush  of  heroic  mood,  however,  the 
glow  subsided,  and  poor  Septimius  spent  the 
rest  of  the  day,  as  was  his  wont,  poring  over  his 
books,  in  which  all  the  meanings  seemed  dead 
and  mouldy,  and  like  pressed  leaves  (some  of 
which  dropped  out  of  the  books  as  he  opened 
them),  brown,  brittle,  sapless  ;  so  even  the 
thoughts,  which  when  the  writers  had  gathered 
them  seemed  to  them  so  brightly  colored  and 
full  of  life.  Then  he  began  to  see  that  there 
must  have  been  some  principle  of  life  left  out 
of  the  book,  so  that  these  gathered  thoughts 
lacked  something  that  had  given  them  their  only 
value.  Then  he  suspected  that  the  way  truly 
to  live  and  answer  the  purposes  of  life  was  not 
to  gather  up  thoughts  into  books,  where  they 
grew  so  dry,  but  to  live  and  still  be  going  about, 
full  of  green  wisdom,  ripening  ever,  not  in  max 
ims  cut  and  dry,  but  a  wisdom  ready  for  daily 
occasions,  like  a  living  fountain  ;  and  that  to  be 
this,  it  was  necessary  to  exist  long  on  earth,  drink 
in  all  its  lessons,  and  not  to  die  on  the  attainment 
of  some  smattering  of  truth ;  but  to  live  all  the 
more  for  that,  and  apply  it  to  mankind  and 
increase  it  thereby. 

Everything  drifted  towards  the  strong,  strange 
84 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

eddy  into  which  his  mind  had  been  drawn  :  all 
his  thoughts  set  hitherward. 

So  he  sat  brooding  in  his  study  until  the  shrill- 
voiced  old  woman  —  an  aunt,  who  was  his  house 
keeper  and  domestic  ruler  —  called  him  to  din 
ner, —  a  frugal  dinner,  —  and  chided  him  for 
seeming  inattentive  to  a  dish  of  early  dandelions 
which  she  had  gathered  for  him  ;  but  yet  tem 
pered  her  severity  with  respect  for  the  future 
clerical  rank  of  her  nephew,  and  for  his  already 
being  a  bachelor  of  arts.  The  old  woman's 
voice  spoke  outside  of  Septimius,  rambling  away, 
and  he  paying  little  heed,  till  at  last  dinner  was 
over,  and  Septimius  drew  back  his  chair,  about 
to  leave  the  table. 

"  Nephew  Septimius,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"  you  began  this  meal  to-day  without  asking  a 
blessing,  you  get  up  from  it  without  giving 
thanks,  and  you  soon  to  be  a  minister  of  the 
Word." 

"  God  bless  the  meat,"  replied  Septimius  (by 
way  of  blessing),  "  and  make  it  strengthen  us 
for  the  life  he  means  us  to  bear.  Thank  God 
for  our  food,"  he  added  (by  way  of  grace),  "  and 
may  it  become  a  portion  in  us  of  an  immortal 
body." 

"  That  sounds  good,  Septimius,"  said  the  old 
lady.  "  Ah  !  you  '11  be  a  mighty  man  in  the  pul 
pit,  and  worthy  to  keep  up  the  name  of  your 
great-grandfather,  who,  they  say,  made  the  leaves 

85 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

wither  on  a  tree  with  the  fierceness  of  his  blast 
against  a  sin.  Some  say,  to  be  sure,  it  was  an 
early  frost  that  helped  him." 

"  I  never  heard  that  before.  Aunt  Keziah," 
said  Septimius. 

"  I  warrant  you  no,"  replied  his  aunt.  "  A 
man  dies,  and  his  greatness  perishes  as  if  it  had 
never  been,  and  people  remember  nothing  of 
him  only  when  they  see  his  gravestone  over  his 
old  dry  bones,  and  say  he  was  a  good  man  in 
his  day."  . 

"What  truth  there  is  in  Aunt  Keziah's 
words  !  "  exclaimed  Septimius.  "  And  how  I  hate 
the  thought  and  anticipation  of  that  contemptu 
ous  appreciation  of  a  man  after  his  death  !  Every 
living  man  triumphs  over  every  dead  one,  as  he 
lies,  poor  and  helpless,  under  the  mould,  a  pinch 
of  dust,  a  heap  of  bones,  an  evil  odor  !  I  hate 
the  thought  !  It  shall  not  be  so  !  " 

It  was  strange  how  every  little  incident  thus 
brought  him  back  to  that  one  subject  which  was 
taking  so  strong  hold  of  his  mind  ;  every  avenue 
led  thitherward ;  and  he  took  it  for  an  indication 
that  nature  had  intended,  by  innumerable  ways, 
to  point  out  to  us  the  great  truth  that  death  was 
an  alien  misfortune,  a  prodigy,  a  monstrosity, 
into  which  man  had  only  fallen  by  defect ;  and 
that  even  now,  if  a  man  had  a  reasonable  por 
tion  of  his  original  strength  in  him,  he  might 
live  forever  and  spurn  death. 

86 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Our  story  is  an  internal  one,  dealing  as  little 
as  possible  with  outward  events,  and  taking  hold 
of  these  only  where  it  cannot  be  helped,  in  or 
der  by  means  of  them  to  delineate  the  history  of 
a  mind  bewildered  in  certain  errors.  We  would 
not  willingly,  if  we  could,  give  a  lively  and  pic 
turesque  surrounding  to  this  delineation,  but  it 
is  necessary  that  we  should  advert  to  the  circum 
stances  of  the  time  in  which  this  inward  history 
was  passing.  We  will  say,  therefore,  that  that 
night  there  was  a  cry  of  alarm  passing  all  through 
the  succession  of  country  towns  and  rural  com 
munities  that  lay  around  Boston,  and  dying  away 
towards  the  coast  and  the  wilder  forest  borders. 
Horsemen  galloped  past  the  line  of  farmhouses 
shouting  alarm  !  alarm  !  There  were  stories  of 
marching  troops  coming  like  dreams  through  the 
midnight.  Around  the  little  rude  meeting 
houses  there  was  here  and  there  the  beat  of  a 
drum,  and  the  assemblage  of  farmers  with  their 
weapons.  So  all  that  night  there  was  marching, 
there  was  mustering,  there  was  trouble  ;  and,  on 
the  road  from  Boston,  a  steady  march  of  soldiers' 
feet  onward,  onward  into  the  land  whose  last 
warlike  disturbance  had  been  when  the  red  In 
dians  trod  it, 

Septimius  heard  it,  and  knew,  like  the  rest, 
that  it  was  the  sound  of  coming  war.  "  Fools 
that  men  are  !  "  said  he,  as  he  rose  from  bed  and 
looked  out  at  the  misty  stars  ;  "  they  do  not  live 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

long  enough  to  know  the  value  and  purport  of 
life,  else  they  would  combine  together  to  live 
long,  instead  of  throwing  away  the  lives  of  thou 
sands  as  they  do.  And  what  matters  a  little 
tyranny  in  so  short  a  life  ?  What  matters  a 
form  of  government  for  such  ephemeral  crea 
tures  ?  " 

As  morning  brightened,  these  sounds,  this 
clamor,  —  or  something  that  was  in  the  air  and 
caused  the  clamor,  —  grew  so  loud  that  Septi- 
mius  seemed  to  feel  it  even  in  his  solitude.  It 
was  in  the  atmosphere, — storm,  wild  excitement, 
a  coming  deed.  Men  hurried  along  the  usually 
lonely  road  in  groups,  with  weapons  in  their 
hands,  —  the  old  fowling  piece  of  seven-foot 
barrel,  with  which  the  Puritans  had  shot  ducks 
on  the  river  and  Walden  Pond  ;  the  heavy  har 
quebus,  which  perhaps  had  levelled  one  of  King 
Philip's  Indians;  the  old  King  gun,  that  blazed 
away  at  the  French  of  Louisburg  or  Quebec,  — 
hunter,  husbandman,  all  were  hurrying  each 
other.  It  was  a  good  time,  everybody  felt,  to 
be  alive,  a  nearer  kindred,  a  closer  sympathy 
between  man  and  man  ;  a  sense  of  the  goodness 
of  the  world,  of  the  sacredness  of  country,  of  the 
excellence  of  life  ;  and  yet  its  slight  account  com 
pared  with  any  truth,  any  principle  ;  the  weigh 
ing  of  the  material  and  ethereal,  and  the  finding 
the  former  not  worth  considering,  when,  never 
theless,  it  had  so  much  to  do  with  the  settlement 

88 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

of  the  crisis.  The  ennobling  of  brute  force  ;  the 
feeling  that  it  had  its  godlike  side ;  the  drawing 
of  heroic  breath  amid  the  scenes  of  ordinary  life, 
so  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  all  been  trans 
figured  since  yesterday.  O,  high,  heroic,  trem 
ulous  juncture,  when  man  felt  himself  almost  an 
angel  ;  on  the  verge  of  doing  deeds  that  out 
wardly  look  so  fiendish  !  O,  strange  rapture 
of  the  coming  battle  !  We  know  something  of 
that  time  now  ;  we  that  have  seen  the  muster  of 
the  village  soldiery  on  the  meeting-house  green 
and  at  railway  stations  ;  and  heard  the  drum  and 
fife,  and  seen  the  farewells;  seen  the  familiar 
faces  that  we  hardly  knew,  now  that  we  felt  them 
to  be  heroes  ;  breathed  higher  breath  for  their 
sakes  ;  felt  our  eyes  moistened  ;  thanked  them 
in  our  souls  for  teaching  us  that  nature  is  yet  ca 
pable  of  heroic  moments  ;  felt  how  a  great  im 
pulse  lifts  up  a  people,  and  every  cold,  passion 
less,  indifferent  spectator,  —  lifts  him  up  into 
religion,  and  makes  him  join  in  what  becomes 
an  act  of  devotion,  a  prayer,  when  perhaps  he 
but  half  approves. 

Septimius  could  not  study  on  a  morning  like 
this.  He  tried  to  say  to  himself  that  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  this  excitement ;  that  his 
studious  life  kept  him  away  from  it ;  that  his 
intended  profession  was  that  of  peace ;  but  say 
what  he  might  to  himself,  there  was  a  tremor, 
a  bubbling  impulse,  a  tingling  in  his  ears,  —  the 

89 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

page  that  he  opened  glimmered  and  dazzled 
before  him. 

"  Septimius  !  Septimius  !  "  cried  Aunt  Keziah, 
looking  into  the  room,  "  in  Heaven's  name,  are 
you  going  to  sit  here  to-day,  and  the  redcoats 
coming  to  burn  the  house  over  our  heads  ? 
Must  I  sweep  you  out  with  the  broomstick  ? 
For  shame,  boy  !  for  shame  !  " 

"  Are  they  coming,  then,  Aunt  Keziah  ? " 
asked  her  nephew.  "  Well,  I  am  not  a  right 
ing  man." 

"  Certain  they  are.  They  have  sacked  Lex 
ington,  and  slain  the  people,  and  burnt  the  meet 
ing-house.  That  concerns  even  the  parsons ; 
and  you  reckon  yourself  among  them.  Go 
out,  go  out,  I  say,  and  learn  the  news  ! " 

Whether  moved  by  these  exhortations  or  by 
his  own  stifled  curiosity,  Septimius  did  at  length 
issue  from  his  door,  though  with  that  reluctance 
which  hampers  and  impedes  men  whose  current 
of  thought  and  interest  runs  apart  from  that 
of  the  world  in  general ;  but  forth  he  came,  feel 
ing  strangely,  and  yet  with  a  strong  impulse  to 
fling  himself  headlong  into  the  emotion  of  the 
moment.  It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  spring 
like  and  summerlike  at  once.  If  there  had  been 
nothing  else  to  do  or  think  of,  such  a  morning 
was  enough  for  life  only  to  breathe  its  air  and 
be  conscious  of  its  inspiring  influence. 

Septimius  turned  along  the  road  towards  the 
90 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

pillage,  meaning  to  mingle  with  the  crowd  on 
the  green,  and  there  learn  all  he  could  of  the 
rumors  that  vaguely  filled  the  air,  and  doubtless 
were  shaping  themselves  into  various  forms  of 
fiction. 

As  he  passed  the  small  dwelling  of  Rose  Gar- 
field,  she  stood  on  the  doorstep,  and  bounded 
forth  a  little  way  to  meet  him,  looking  frightened, 
excited,  and  yet  half  pleased,  but  strangely 
pretty ;  prettier  than  ever  before,  owing  to  some 
hasty  adornment  or  other,  that  she  would  never 
have  succeeded  so  well  in  giving  to  herself  if 
she  had  had  more  time  to  do  it  in. 

"  Septimius  —  Mr.  Felton !  "  cried  she,  asking 
information  of  him  who,  of  all  men  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  knew  nothing  of  the  intelligence  afloat ; 
but  it  showed  a  certain  importance  that  Septi 
mius  had  with  her.  "  Do  you  really  think  the 
redcoats  are  coming  ?  Ah,  what  shall  we  do  ? 
What  shall  we  do  r  But  you  are  not  going  to 
the  village,  too,  and  leave  us  all  alone  ? " 

"  I  know  not  whether  they  are  coming  or  no, 
Rose,"  said  Septimius,  stopping  to  admire  the 
young  girl's  fresh  beauty,  which  made  a  double 
stroke  upon  him  by  her  excitement,  and,  more 
over,  made  her  twice  as  free  with  him  as  ever 
she  had  been  before ;  for  there  is  nothing  truer 
than  that  any  breaking  up  of  the  ordinary  state 
of  things  is  apt  to  shake  women  out  of  their 
proprieties,  break  down  barriers,  and  bring  them 

91 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

into  perilous  proximity  with  the  world.  "  Are 
you  alone  here?  Had  you  not  better  take 
shelter  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  And  leave  my  poor,  bedridden  grand 
mother  !  "  cried  Rose  angrily.  "  You  know  I 
can't,  Septimius.  But  I  suppose  I  am  in  no 
danger.  Go  to  the  village,  if  you  like." 

"  Where  is  Robert  Hagburn  ?  "  asked  Septi 
mius. 

"  Gone  to  the  village  this  hour  past,  with  his 
grandfather's  old  firelock  on  his  shoulder,"  said 
Rose  ;  "  he  was  running  bullets  before  day- 

light." 

"  Rose,  I  will  stay  with  you,"  said  Septimius. 

"  O  gracious,  here  they  come,  I  'm  sure  !  " 
cried  Rose.  "  Look  yonder  at  the  dust.  Mercy  ! 
a  man  at  a  gallop  !  " 

In  fact,  along  the  road,  a  considerable  stretch 
of  which  was  visible,  they  heard  the  clatter  of 
hoofs  and  saw  a  little  cloud  of  dust  approaching 
at  the  rate  of  a  gallop,  and  disclosing,  as  it  drew 
near,  a  hatless  countryman  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
who,  bending  over  his  horse's  neck,  applied  a 
cart  whip  lustily  to  the  animal's  flanks,  so  as  to 
incite  him  to  most  unwonted  speed.  At  the 
same  time,  glaring  upon  Rose  and  Septimius,  he 
lifted  up  his  voice  and  shouted  in  a  strange,  high 
tone,  that  communicated  the  tremor  and  excite 
ment  of  the  shouter  to  each  auditor  :  "  Alarum  ! 

92 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

alarum  !  alarum  !  The  redcoats  !  The  redcoats ! 
To  arms  !  alarum  !  " 

And  trailing  this  sound  far  wavering  behind 
him  like  a  pennon,  the  eager  horseman  dashed 
onward  to  the  village. 

"  O  dear,  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  cried  Rose,  her 
eyes  full  of  tears,  yet  dancing  with  excitement. 
"  They  are  coming  !  they  are  coming  !  I  hear 
the  drum  and  fife." 

"  I  really  believe  they  are,"  said  Septimius, 
his  cheek  flushing  and  growing  pale,  not  with 
fear,  but  the  inevitable  tremor,  half  painful,  half 
pleasurable,  of  the  moment.  "  Hark  !  there  was 
the  shrill  note  of  a  fife.  Yes,  they  are  com- 
ing!" 

He  tried  to  persuade  Rose  to  hide  herself  in 
the  house  ;  but  that  young  person  would  not  be 
persuaded  to  do  so,  clinging  to  Septimius  in  a 
way  that  flattered  while  it  perplexed  him.  Be 
sides,  with  all  the  girl's  fright,  she  had  still  a 
good  deal  of  courage,  and  much  curiosity  too, 
to  see  what  these  redcoats  were  of  whom  she 
heard  such  terrible  stories. 

"Well,  well,  Rose,"  said  Septimius,  "  I  doubt 
not  we  may  stay  here  without  danger,  —  you,  a 
woman,  and  I,  whose  profession  is  to  be  that  of 
peace  and  good  will  to  all  men.  They  cannot, 
whatever  is  said  of  them,  be  on  an  errand  of 
massacre.  We  will  stand  here  quietly ;  and, 

93 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

seeing  that  we  do  not  fear  them,  they  will  un 
derstand  that  we  mean  them  no  harm." 

They  stood,  accordingly,  a  little  in  front  of  the 
door  by  the  well  curb,  and  soon  they  saw  a  heavy 
cloud  of  dust,  from  amidst  which  shone  bay 
onets  ;  and  anon,  a  military  band,  which  had 
hitherto  been  silent,  struck  up,  with  drum  and 
fife,  to  which  the  tramp  of  a  thousand  feet  fell 
in  regular  order ;  then  came  the  column,  moving 
massively,  and  the  redcoats  who  seemed  some 
what  wearied  by  a  long  night  march,  dusty,  with 
bedraggled  gaiters,  covered  with  sweat  which  had 
run  down  from  their  powdered  locks.  Never 
theless,  these  ruddy,  lusty  Englishmen  marched 
stoutly,  as  men  that  needed  only  a  half  hour's 
rest,  a  good  breakfast,  and  a  pot  of  beer  apiece, 
to  make  them  ready  to  face  the  world.  Nor 
did  their  faces  look  anywise  rancorous  ;  but  at 
most,  only  heavy,  cloddish,  good-natured,  and 
humane. 

"  O  heavens,  Mr.  Felton  !  "  whispered  Rose, 
"  why  should  we  shoot  these  men,  or  they  us  ? 
They  look  kind,  if  homely.  Each  of  them  has 
a  mother  and  sisters,  I  suppose,  just  like  our 
men." 

"  It  is  the  strangest  thing  in  the  world  that 
we  can  think  of  killing  them,"  said  Septimius. 
"  Human  life  is  so  precious." 

Just  as  they  were  passing  the  cottage,  a  halt 
was  called  by  the  commanding  officer,  in  order 

94 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

that  some  little  rest  might  get  the  troops  into  a 
better  condition  and  give  them  breath  before 
entering  the  village,  where  it  was  important  to 
make  as  imposing  a  show  as  possible.  During 
this  brief  stop,  some  of  the  soldiers  approached 
the  well  curb,  near  which  Rose  and  Septimius 
were  standing,  and  let  down  the  bucket  to  sat 
isfy  their  thirst.  A  young  officer,  a  petulant 
boy,  extremely  handsome,  and  of  gay  and  buoy 
ant  deportment,  also  came  up. 

"  Get  me  a  cup,  pretty  one,"  said  he,  patting 
Rose's  cheek  with  great  freedom,  though  it  was 
somewhat  and  indefinitely  short  of  rudeness  ; 
"  a  mug,  or  something  to  drink  out  of,  and  you 
shall  have  a  kiss  for  your  pains." 

"  Stand  off,  sir  !  "  said  Septimius  fiercely. 
"  It  is  a  coward's  part  to  insult  a  woman." 

"  I  intend  no  insult  in  this,"  replied  the  hand 
some  young  officer,  suddenly  snatching  a  kiss 
from  Rose,  before  she  could  draw  back.  "  And 
if  you  think  it  so,  my  good  friend,  you  had  bet 
ter  take  your  weapon  and  get  as  much  satisfac 
tion  as  you  can,  shooting  at  me  from  behind  a 
hedge."' 

Before  Septimius  could  reply  or  act,  —  and, 
in  truth,  the  easy  presumption  of  the  young 
Englishman  made  it  difficult  for  him,  an  inex 
perienced  recluse  as  he  was,  to  know  what  to  do 
or  say,  —  the  drum  beat  a  little  tap,  recalling 
the  soldiers  to  their  rank  and  to  order.  The 

95 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

young  officer  hastened  back,  with  a  laughing 
glance  at  Rose,  and  a  light,  contemptuous  look 
of  defiance  at  Septimius,  the  drums  rattling  out 
in  full  beat,  and  the  troops  marched  on. 

"  What  impertinence  !  "  said  Rose,  whose  in 
dignant  color  made  her  look  pretty  enough  al 
most  tc  excuse  the  offence. 

It  is  )  )t  easy  to  see  how  Septimius  could  have 
shielded  her  from  the  insult;  and  yet  he  felt 
inconceivably  outraged  and  humiliated  at  the 
thought  that  this  offence  had  occurred  while 
Rose  was  under  his  protection,  and  he  respon 
sible  for  her.  Besides,  somehow  or  other,  he 
was  angry  with  her  for  having  undergone  the 
wrong,  though  certainly  most  unreasonably  ;  for 
the  whole  thing  was  quicker  done  than  said. 

"  You  had  better  go  into  the  house  now, 
Rose,"  said  he,  "  and  see  to  your  bedridden 
grandmother." 

"  And  what  will  you  do,  Septimius  ?  "  asked 
she. 

"  Perhaps  I  will  house  myself,  also,"  he  re 
plied.  "  Perhaps  take  yonder  proud  redcoat's 
counsel,  and  shoot  him  behind  a  hedge." 

"  But  not  kill  him  outright ;  I  suppose  he 
has  a  mother  and  a  sweetheart,  the  handsome 
young  officer,"  murmured  Rose  pityingly  to 
herself. 

Septimius  went  into  his  house,  and  sat  in  his 
study  for  some  hours,  in  that  unpleasant  state 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

of  feeling  which  a  man  of  brooding  thought  is 
apt  to  experience  when  the  world  around  him 
is  in  a  state  of  intense  action,  which  he  finds  it 
impossible  to  sympathize  with.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  stream  rushing  past  him,  by  which,  even 
if  he  plunged  into  the  midst  of  it,  he  could  not 
be  wet.  He  felt  himself  strangely  ajar  with  the 
human  race,  and  would  have  given  much  either 
to  be  in  full  accord  with  it,  or  to  be  separated 
from  it  forever. 

"  I  am  dissevered  from  it.  It  is  my  doom  to 
be  only  a  spectator  of  life  ;  to  look  on  as  one 
apart  from  it.  Is  it  not  well,  therefore,  that, 
sharing  none  of  its  pleasures  and  happiness,  I 
should  be  free  of  its  fatalities,  its  brevity  ?  How 
cold  I  am  now,  while  this  whirlpool  of  public 
feeling  is  eddying  around  me !  It  is  as  if  I  had 
not  been  born  of  woman  !  " 

Thus  it  was  that,  drawing  wild  inferences  from 
phenomena  of  the  mind  and  heart  common 
to  people  who,  by  some  morbid  action  within 
themselves,  are  set  ajar  with  the  world,  Septi- 
mius  continued  still  to  come  round  to  that  strange 
idea  of  undyingness  which  had  recently  taken 
possession  of  him.  And  yet  he  was  wrong  in 
thinking  himself  cold,  and  that  he  felt  no  sym 
pathy  in  the  fever  of  patriotism  that  was  throb 
bing  through  his  countrymen.  He  was  restless 
as  a  flame ;  he  could  not  fix  his  thoughts  upon 
his  book  ;  he  could  not  sit  in  his  chair,  but  kept 
97 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

pacing  to  and  fro,  while  through  the  open  win 
dow  came  noises  to  which  his  imagination  gave 
diverse  interpretation.  Now  it  was  a  distant 
drum ;  now  shouts  ;  by  and  by  there  came  the 
rattle  of  musketry,  that  seemed  to  proceed  from 
some  point  more  distant  than  the  village ;  a  reg 
ular  roll,  then  a  ragged  volley,  then  scattering 
shots.  Unable  any  longer  to  preserve  this  un 
natural  indifference,  Septimius  snatched  his  gun, 
and,  rushing  out  of  the  house,  climbed  the  ab 
rupt  hillside  behind,  whence  he  could  see  a  long 
way  towards  the  village,  till  a  slight  bend  hid 
the  uneven  road.  It  was  quite  vacant,  not  a 
passenger  upon  it.  But  there  seemed  to  be 
confusion  in  that  direction  ;  an  unseen  and  in 
scrutable  trouble,  blowing  thence  towards  him, 
intimated  by  vague  sounds,  —  by  no  soundsc 
Listening  eagerly,  however,  he  at  last  fancied  a 
mustering  sound  of  the  drum ;  then  it  seemed 
as  if  it  were  coming  towards  him  ;  while  in  ad 
vance  rode  another  horseman,  the  same  kind  of 
headlong  messenger,  in  appearance,  who  had 
passed  the  house  with  his  ghastly  cry  of  alarum  ; 
then  appeared  scattered  countrymen,  with  guns 
in  their  hands,  straggling  across  fields.  Then  he 
caught  sight  of  the  regular  array  of  British  sol 
diers,  filling  the  road  with  their  front,  and  march 
ing  along  as  firmly  as  ever,  though  at  a  quick 
pace,  while  he  fancied  that  the  officers  looked 
watchfully  around.  As  he  looked,  a  shot  rang 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

sharp  from  the  hillside  towards  the  village ;  the 
smoke  curled  up,  and  Septimius  saw  a  man  stag 
ger  and  fall  in  the  midst  of  the  troops.  Septi 
mius  shuddered ;  it  was  so  like  murder  that  he 
really  could  not  tell  the  difference  ;  his  knees 
trembled  beneath  him  ;  his  breath  grew  short, 
not  with  terror,  but  with  some  new  sensation  of 
awe. 

Another  shot  or  two  came  almost  simultane 
ously  from  the  wooded  height,  but  without  any 
effect  that  Septimius  could  perceive.  Almost  at 
the  same  moment  a  company  of  the  British  sol 
diers  wheeled  from  the  main  body,  and,  dashing 
out  of  the  road,  climbed  the  hill,  and  disap 
peared  into  the  wood  and  shrubbery  that  veiled 
it.  There  were  a  few  straggling  shots,  by  whom 
fired,  or  with  what  effect,  was  invisible,  and  mean 
while  the  main  body  of  the  enemy  proceeded 
along  the  road.  They  had  now  advanced  so 
nigh  that  Septimius  was  strangely  assailed  by 
the  idea  that  he  might,  with  the  gun  in  his  hand, 
fire  right  into  the  midst  of  them,  and  select  any 
man  of  that  now  hostile  band  to  be  a  victim. 
How  strange,  how  strange  it  is,  this  deep,  wrild 
passion  that  nature  has  implanted  in  us  to  be 
the  death  of  our  fellow  creatures,  and  which  co 
exists  at  the  same  time  with  horror  !  Septimius 
levelled  his  weapon,  and  drew  it  up  again ;  he 
marked  a  mounted  officer,  who  seemed  to  be  in 
chief  command,  whom  he  knew  that  he  could 

99 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

kill.  But  no  !  he  had  really  no  such  purpose. 
Only  it  was  such  a  temptation.  And  in  a  mo 
ment  the  horse  would  leap,  the  officer  would 
fall  and  lie  there  in  the  dust  of  the  road,  bleed 
ing,  gasping,  breathing  in  spasms,  breathing  no 
more. 

While  the  young  man,  in  these  unusual  cir 
cumstances,  stood  watching  the  marching  of  the 
troops,  he  heard  the  noise  of  rustling  boughs 
and  the  voices  of  men,  and  soon  understood  that 
the  party,  which  he  had  seen  separate  itself  from 
the  main  body  and  ascend  the  hill,  was  now 
marching  along  on  the  hilltop,  the  long  ridge 
which,  with  a  gap  or  two,  extended  as  much  as 
a  mile  from  the  village.  One  of  these  gaps  oc 
curred  a  little  way  from  where  Septimius  stood. 
They  were  acting  as  flank  guard,  to  prevent  the 
uproused  people  from  coming  so  close  to  the 
main  body  as  to  fire  upon  it.  He  looked  and 
saw  that  the  detachment  of  British  was  plun 
ging  down  one  side  of  this  gap,  with  intent 
to  ascend  the  other,  so  that  they  would  pass 
directly  over  the  spot  where  he  stood;  a  slight 
removal  to  one  side,  among  the  small  bushes, 
would  conceal  him.  He  stepped  aside,  accord 
ingly,  and  from  his  concealment,  not  without 
drawing  quicker  breaths,  beheld  the  party  draw 
near.  They  were  more  intent  upon  the  space 
between  them  and  the  main  body  than  upon  the 
dense  thicket  of  birch-trees,  pitch  pines,  sumach, 
100 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  dwarf  oaks,  which,  scarcely  yet  beginning 
to  bud  into  leaf,  lay  on  the  other  side,  and  in 
which  Septimius  lurked. 

[Describe  how  their  faces  affected  him,  passing 
so  near  ;  how  strange  they  seemed.~\ 

They  had  all  passed,  except  an  officer  who 
brought  up  the  rear,  and  who  had  perhaps  been 
attracted  by  some  slight  motion  that  Septimius 
made,  —  some  rustle  in  the  thicket ;  for  he 
stopped,  fixed  his  eyes  piercingly  towards  the 
spot  where  he  stood,  and  levelled  a  light  fusil 
which  he  carried.  "  Stand  out,  or  I  shoot/1 
said  he. 

Not  to  avoid  the  shot,  but  because  his  man 
hood  felt  a  call  upon  it  not  to  skulk  in  obscurity 
from  an  open  enemy,  Septimius  at  once  stood 
forth,  and  confronted  the  same  handsome  young 
officer  with  whom  those  fierce  words  had  passed 
on  account  of  his  rudeness  to  Rose  Garfield. 
Septimius's  fierce  Indian  blood  stirred  in  him, 
and  gave  a  murderous  excitement. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you  !  "  said  the  young  officer,  with 
a  haughty  smile.  "  You  meant,  then,  to  take 
up  with  my  hint  of  shooting  at  me  from  behind 
a  hedge  ?  This  is  better.  Come,  we  have  in 
the  first  place  the  great  quarrel  between  me,  a 
king's  soldier,  and  you,  a  rebel ;  next  our  private 
affair,  on  account  of  yonder  pretty  girl.  Come, 
let  us  take  a  shot  on  either  score  !  " 

The  young  officer  was  so  handsome,  so  beau- 
101 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tiful,  in  budding  youth ;  there  was  such  a  free, 
gay  petulance  in  his  manner ;  there  seemed  so 
little  of  real  evil  in  him  ;  he  put  himself  on 
equal  ground  with  the  rustic  Septimius  so  gen 
erously,  that  the  latter,  often  so  morbid  and  sul 
len,  never  felt  a  greater  kindness  for  fellow  man 
than  at  this  moment  for  this  youth. 

"  I  have  no  enmity  towards  you,"  said  he  ; 
"  go  in  peace." 

"  No  enmity  !  "  replied  the  officer.  "  Then 
why  were  you  here  with  your  gun  amongst  the 
shrubbery  ?  But  I  have  a  mind  to  do  my  first 
deed  of  arms  on  you ;  so  give  up  your  weapon, 
and  come  with  me  as  prisoner." 

"A  prisoner!"  cried  Septimius,  that  Indian 
fierceness  that  was  in  him  arousing  itself,  and 
thrusting  up  its  malign  head  like  a  snake. 
"  Never !  If  you  would  have  me,  you  must 
take  my  dead  body." 

"  Ah  well,  you  have  pluck  in  you,  I  see ;  only 
it  needs  a  considerable  stirring.  Come,  this  is 
a  good  quarrel  of  ours.  Let  us  fight  it  out. 
Stand  where  you  are,  and  I  will  give  the  word 
of  command.  Now  ;  ready,  aim,  fire  !  " 

As  the  young  officer  spoke  the  three  last 
words,  in  rapid  succession,  he  and  his  antagonist 
brought  their  firelocks  to  the  shoulder,  aimed 
and  fired.  Septimius  felt,  as  it  were,  the  sting 
of  a  gadfly  passing  across  his  temple,  as  the  Eng 
lishman's  bullet  grazed  it ;  but,  to  his  surprise 

102 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  horror  (for  the  whole  thing  scarcely  seemed 
real  to  him),  he  saw  the  officer  give  a  great  start, 
drop  his  fusil,  and  stagger  against  a  tree,  with 
his  hand  to  his  breast.  He  endeavored  to  sup 
port  himself  erect,  but,  failing  in  the  effort,  beck 
oned  to  Septimius. 

"  Come,  my  good  friend,"  said  he,  with  that 
playful,  petulant  smile  flitting  over  his  face  again. 
"  It  is  my  first  and  last  fight.  Let  me  down  as 
softly  as  you  can  on  mother  earth,  the  mother 
of  both  you  and  me  ;  so  we  are  brothers  ;  and 
this  may  be  a  brotherly  act,  though  it  does  not 
look  so,  nor  feel  so.  Ah  !  that  was  a  twinge 
indeed  !  " 

"  Good  God  !  "  exclaimed  Septimius.  "  I  had 
no  thought  of  this,  no  malice  towards  you  in 
the  least  /  " 

"  Nor  I  towards  you,"  said  the  young  man. 
*e  It  was  boy's  play,  and  the  end  of  it  is  that  I 
die  a  boy,  instead  of  living  forever,  as  perhaps 
I  otherwise  might." 

"  Living  forever  !  "  repeated  Septimius,  his 
attention  arrested,  even  at  that  breathless  mo 
ment,  by  words  that  rang  so  strangely  on  what 
had  been  his  brooding  thought. 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  have  lost  my  chance,"  said  the 
young  officer.  Then,  as  Septimius  helped  him 
to  lie  against  'the  little  hillock  of  a  decayed  and 
buried  stump,  "  Thank  you  ;  thank  you.  If 
you  could  only  call  back  one  of  my  comrades 
103 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

to  hear  my  dying  words.     But  I  forgot.     You 
have  killed  me,  and  they  would  take  your  life." 

In  truth,  Septimius  was  so  moved  and  so 
astonished,  that  he  probably  would  have  called 
back  the  young  man's  comrades,  had  it  been  pos 
sible  ;  but,  marching  at  the  swift  rate  of  men  in 
peril,  they  had  already  gone  far  onward,  in  their 
passage  through  the  shrubbery  that  had  ceased 
to  rustle  behind  them. 

"  Yes  ;  I  must  die  here !  "  said  the  young  man, 
with  a  forlorn  expression,  as  of  a  schoolboy  far 
away  from  home,  cc  and  nobody  to  see  me  now 
but  you,  who  have  killed  me.  Could  you  fetch 
me  a  drop  of  water?  I  have  a  great  thirst." 

Septimius,  in  a  dream  of  horror  and  pity, 
rushed  down  the  hillside  ;  the  house  was  empty, 
for  Aunt  Keziah  had  gone  for  shelter  and  sym 
pathy  to  some  of  the  neighbors.  He  filled  a  jug 
with  cold  water,  and  hurried  back  to  the  hilltop, 
finding  the  young  officer  looking  paler  and  more 
deathlike  within  those  few  moments. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  enemy  that  was,  my  friend 
that  is,"  murmured  he,  faintly  smiling.  "  Me- 
thinks,  next  to  the  father  and  mother  that  gave 
us  birth,  the  next  most  intimate  relation  must 
be  with  the  man  that  slays  us,  who  introduces 
us  to  the  mysterious  world  to  which  this  is  but 
the  portal.  You  and  I  are  singularly  connected, 
doubt  it  not,  in  the  scenes  of  the  unknown 
world." 

104 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

<c  O,  believe  me,"  cried  Septimius,  "  I  grieve 
for  you  like  a  brother  !  " 

"  I  see  it,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  young  offi 
cer  ;  "  and  though  my  blood  is  on  your  hands, 
I  forgive  you  freely,  if  there  is  anything  to  for 
give.  But  I  am  dying,  and  have  a  few  words 
to  say,  which  you  must  hear.  You  have  slain 
me  in  fair  fight,  and  my  spoils,  according  to  the 
rules  and  customs  of  warfare,  belong  to  the  vic 
tor.  Hang  up  my  sword  and  fusil  over  your 
chimney  place,  and  tell  your  children,  twenty 
years  hence,  how  they  were  won.  My  purse, 
keep  it  or  give  it  to  the  poor.  There  is  some 
thing,  here  next  my  heart,  which  I  would  fain 
have  sent  to  the  address  which  I  will  give  you/' 

Septimius,  obeying  his  directions,  took  from 
his  breast  a  miniature  that  hung  round  it ;  but, 
on  examination,  it  proved  that  the  bullet  had 
passed  directly  through  it,  shattering  the  ivory, 
so  that  the  woman's  face  it  represented  was  quite 
destroyed. 

"  Ah  !  that  is  a  pity,"  said  the  young  man  ; 
and  yet  Septimius  thought  that  there  was  some 
thing  light  and  contemptuous  mingled  with  the 
pathos  in  his  tones.  "  Well,  but  send  it ;  cause 
it  to  be  transmitted,  according  to  the  address." 

He  gave  Septimius,  and  made  him  take  down 
on  a  tablet  which  he  had  about  him,  the  name 
of  a  hall  in  one  of  the  midland  counties  of  Eng 
land. 

105 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  Ah,  that  old  place,"  said  he,  "  with  its  oaks, 
and  its  lawn,  and  its  park,  and  its  Elizabethan 
gables  !  I  little  thought  I  should  die  here,  so 
far  away,  in  this  barren  Yankee  land.  Where 
will  you  bury  me  ?  " 

As  Septimius  hesitated  to  answer,  the  young 
man  continued  :  "  I  would  like  to  have  lain  in 
the  little  old  church  at  Whitnash,  which  comes 
up  before  me  now,  with  its  low,  gray  tower,  and 
the  old  yew-tree  in  front,  hollow  with  age,  and 
the  village  clustering  about  it,  with  its  thatched 
houses.  I  would  be  loath  to  lie  in  one  of  your 
Yankee  graveyards,  for  I  have  a  distaste  for 
them,  —  though  I  love  you,  my  slayer.  Bury 
me  here,  on  this  very  spot.  A  soldier  lies  best 
where  he  falls." 

"  Here,  in  secret  ?  "  exclaimed  Septimius. 

"  Yes  ;  there  is  no  consecration  in  your  Puri 
tan  burial  grounds,"  said  the  dying  youth,  some 
of  that  queer  narrowness  of  English  Churchism 
coming  into  his  mind.  "  So  bury  me  here,  in 
my  soldier's  dress.  Ah  !  and  my  watch  !  I 
have  done  with  time,  and  you,  perhaps,  have  a 
long  lease  of  it ;  so  take  it,  not  as  spoil,  but 
as  my  parting  gift.  And  that  reminds  me  of 
one  other  thing.  Open  that  pocketbook  which 
you  have  in  your  hand." 

Septimius  did  so,  and  by  the  officer's  direction 
took  from  one  of  its  compartments  a  folded 
paper,  closely  written  in  a  crabbed  hand ;  it  was 
106 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

considerably  worn  in  the  outer  folds,  but  not 
within.  There  was  also  a  small  silver  key  in 
the  pocketbook. 

"  I  leave  it  with  you,"  said  the  officer  ;  "  it  was 
given  me  by  an  uncle,  a  learned  man  of  science, 
who  intended  me  great  good  by  what  he  there 
wrote.  Reap  the  profit,  if  you  can.  Sooth  to 
say,  I  never  read  beyond  the  first  lines  of  the 
paper." 

Septimius  was  surprised,  or  deeply  impressed, 
to  see  that  through  this  paper,  as  well  as  through 
the  miniature,  had  gone  his  fatal  bullet,  — 
straight  through  the  midst ;  and  some  of  the 
young  man's  blood,  saturating  his  dress,  had  wet 
the  paper  all  over.  He  hardly  thought  himself 
likely  to  derive  any  good  from  what  it  had  cost 
a  human  life,  taken  (however  uncriminally)  by 
his  own  hands,  to  obtain. 

"Is  there  anything  more  that  I  can  do  for 
you  ?  "  asked  he,  with  genuine  sympathy  and 
sorrow,  as  he  knelt  by  his  fallen  foe's  side. 

"  Nothing,    nothing,    I     believe,"    said     he. 
"  There  was  one  thing  I  might  have  confessed  ; 
if  there  were  a  holy  man  here,  I  might  have  con 
fessed,  and  asked  his  prayers  ;  for  though  I  have 
lived  few  years,  it  has  been  long  enough  to  do  a 
great  wrong.    But  I  will  try  to  pray  in  my  secret 
soul.     Turn  my  face  towards  the  trunk  of  the 
tree,  for  I  have  taken  my  last  look  at  the  world 
There,  let  me  be  now." 
107 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Septimius  did  as  the  young  man  requested, 
and  then  stood  leaning  against  one  of  the  neigh 
boring  pines,  watching  his  victim  with  a  tender 
concern  that  made  him  feel  as  if  the  convulsive 
throes  that  passed  through  his  frame  were  felt 
equally  in  his  own.  There  was  a  murmuring 
from  the  youth's  lips  which  seemed  to  Septimius 
swift,  soft,  and  melancholy,  like  the  voice  of  a 
child  when  it  has  some  naughtiness  to  confess 
to  its  mother  at  bedtime ;  contrite,  pleading,  yet 
trusting.  So  it  continued  for  a  few  minutes ; 
then  there  was  a  sudden  start  and  struggle,  as 
if  he  were  striving  to  rise  ;  his  eyes  met  those  of 
Septimius  with  a  wild,  troubled  gaze,  but  as  the 
latter  caught  him  in  his  arms  he  was  dead.  Sep 
timius  laid  the  body  softly  down  on  the  leaf- 
strewn  earth,  and  tried,  as  he  had  heard  was  the 
custom  with  the  dead,  to  compose  the  features 
distorted  by  the  dying  agony.  He  then  flung 
himself  on  the  ground  at  a  little  distance,  and 
gave  himself  up  to  the  reflections  suggested  by 
the  strange  occurrences  of  the  last  hour. 

He  had  taken  a  human  life;  and,  however 
the  circumstances  might  excuse  him,  —  might 
make  the  thing  even  something  praiseworthy, 
and  that  would  be  called  patriotic,  —  still,  it  was 
not  at  once  that  a  fresh  country  youth  could  see 
anything  but  horror  in  the  blood  with  which  his 
hand  was  stained.  It  seemed  so  dreadful  to  have 
reduced  this  gay,  animated,  beautiful  being  to  a 
108 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

lump  of  dead  flesh  for  the  flies  to  settle  upon, 
and  which  in  a  few  hours  would  begin  to  decay ; 
which  must  be  put  forthwith  into  the  earth,  lest 
it  should  be  a  horror  to  men's  eyes ;  that  deli 
cious  beauty  for  woman  to  love  ;  that  strength 
and  courage  to  make  him  famous  among  men, 
—  all  come  to  nothing;  all  probabilities  of  life 
in  one  so  gifted ;  the  renown,  the  position,  the 
pleasures,  the  profits,  the  keen  ecstatic  joy, — 
this  never  could  be  made  up,  —  all  ended  quite  ; 
for  the  dark  doubt  descended  upon  Septimius, 
that,  because  of  the  very  fitness  that  was  in  this 
youth  to  enjoy  this  world,  so  much  the  less 
chance  was  there  of  his  being  fit  for  any  other 
world.  What  could  it  do  for  him  there,  —  this 
beautiful  grace  and  elegance  of  feature,  —  where 
there  was  no  form,  nothing  tangible  nor  visible  ? 
what  good  that  readiness  and  aptness  for  associat 
ing  with  all  created  things,  doing  his  part,  acting, 
enjoying,  when,  under  the  changed  conditions  of 
another  state  of  being,  all  this  adaptedness  would 
fail  ?  Had  he  been  gifted  with  permanence  on 
earth,  there  could  not  have  been  a  more  admi 
rable  creature  than  this  young  man  ;  but  as  his 
fate  had  turned  out,  he  was  a  mere  grub,  an  illu 
sion,  something  that  nature  had  held  out  in 
mockery,  and  then  withdrawn.  A  weed  might 
grow  from  his  dust  now ;  that  little  spot  on  the 
barren  hilltop,  where  he  had  desired  to  be  bur 
ied,  would  be  greener  for  some  years  to 
109 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  that  was  all  the  difference.  Septimius  could 
not  get  beyond  the  earthiness  ;  his  feeling  was 
as  if,  by  an  act  of  violence,  he  had  forever  cut 
off  a  happy  human  existence.  And  such  was  his 
own  love  of  life  and  clinging  to  it,  peculiar  to 
dark,  sombre  natures,  and  which  lighter  and 
gayer  ones  can  never  know,  that  he  shuddered 
at  his  deed,  and  at  himself,  and  could  with  diffi 
culty  bear  to  be  alone  with  the  corpse  of  his 
victim,  —  trembled  at  the  thought  of  turning 
his  face  towards  him. 

Yet  he  did  so,  because  he  could  not  endure 
the  imagination  that  the  dead  youth  was  turn 
ing  his  eyes  towards  him  as  he  lay ;  so  he  came 
and  stood  beside  him,  looking  down  into  his 
white,  upturned  face.  But  it  was  wonderful ! 
What  a  change  had  come  over  it  since,  only  a 
few  moments  ago,  he  looked  at  that  death-con 
torted  countenance  !  Now  there  was  a  high 
and  sweet  expression  upon  it,  of  great  joy  and 
surprise,  and  yet  a  quietude  diffused  through 
out,  as  if  the  peace  being  so  very  great  was  what 
had  surprised  him.  The  expression  was  like  a 
light  gleaming  and  glowing  within  him.  Sep 
timius  had  often,  at  a  certain  space  of  time  after 
sunset,  looking  westward,  seen  a  living  radiance 
in  the  sky,  —  the  last  light  of  the  dead  day  that 
seemed  just  the  counterpart  of  this  death  light 
in  the  young  man's  face.  It  was  as  if  the  youth 
were  just  at  the  gate  of  heaven,  which,  swinging 
no 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

softly  open,  let  the  inconceivable  glory  of  the 
blessed  city  shine  upon  his  face,  and  kindle  it 
up  with  gentle,  undisturbing  astonishment  and 
purest  joy.  It  was  an  expression  contrived  by 
God's  providence  to  comfort ;  to  overcome  all 
the  dark  auguries  that  the  physical  ugliness  of 
death  inevitably  creates,  and  to  prove  by  the 
divine  glory  on  the  face,  that  the  ugliness  is  a 
delusion.  It  was  as  if  the  dead  man  himself 
showed  his  face  out  of  the  sky,  with  heaven's 
blessing  on  it,  and  bade  the  afflicted  be  of  good 
cheer,  and  believe  in  immortality. 

Septimius  remembered  the  young  man's  in 
junctions  to  bury  him  there,  on  the  hill,  with 
out  uncovering  the  body  ;  and  though  it  seemed 
a  sin  and  shame  to  cover  up  that  beautiful  body 
with  earth  of  the  grave,  and  give  it  to  the  worm, 
yet  he  resolved  to  obey. 

Be  it  confessed  that,  beautiful  as  the  dead 
form  looked,  and  guiltless  as  Septimius  must  be 
held  in  causing  his  death,  still  he  felt  as  if  he 
should  be  eased  when  it  was  under  the  ground. 
He  hastened  down  to  the  house,  and  brought 
up  a  shovel  and  a  pickaxe,  and  began  his  un 
wonted  task  of  grave-digging,  delving  earnestly 
a  deep  pit,  sometimes  pausing  in  his  toil,  while 
the  sweat  drops  poured  from  him,  to  look  at 
the  beautiful  clay  that  was  to  occupy  it.  Some 
times  he  paused,  too,  to  listen  to  the  shots  that 
pealed  in  the  far  distance,  towards  the  east, 
in 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

whither  the  battle  had  long  since  rolled  out  of 
reach  and  almost  out  of  hearing.  It  seemed  to 
have  gathered  about  itself  the  whole  life  of  the 
land,  attending  it  along  its  bloody  course  in  a 
struggling  throng  of  shouting,  shooting  men,  so 
still  and  solitary  was  everything  left  behind  it. 
It  seemed  the  very  midland  solitude  of  the 
world  where  Septimius  was  delving  at  the  grave. 
He  and  his  dead  were  alone  together,  and  he 
was  going  to  put  the  body  under  the  sod,  and 
be  quite  alone. 

The  grave  was  now  deep,  and  Septimius  was 
stooping  down  into  its  depths  among  dirt  and 
pebbles,  levelling  off  the  bottom,  which  he  con 
sidered  to  be  profound  enough  to  hide  the 
young  man's  mystery  forever,  when  a  voice 
spoke  above  him  ;  a  solemn,  quiet  voice,  which 
he  knew  well. 

"  Septimius  !  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

He  looked  up  and  saw  the  minister. 

"  I  have  slain  a  man  in  fair  fight,"  answered 
he,  "  and  am  about  to  bury  him  as  he  requested. 
I  am  glad  you  are  come.  You,  reverend  sir, 
can  fitly  say  a  prayer  at  his  obsequies.  I  am 
glad  for  my  own  sake  ;  for  it  is  very  lonely  and 
terrible  to  be  here." 

He  climbed  out  of  the  grave,  and,  in  reply  to 
the  minister's  inquiries,  communicated  to  him 
the  events  of  the  morning,  and  the  youth's 
strange  wish  to  be  buried  here,  without  having 

112 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

his  remains  subjected  to  the  hands  of  those  who 
would  prepare  it  for  the  grave.  The  minister 
hesitated. 

"  At  an  ordinary  time,"  said  he,  "  such  a  sin 
gular  request  would  of  course  have  to  be  refused. 
Your  own  safety,  the  good  and  wise  rules  that 
make  it  necessary  that  all  things  relating  to 
death  and  burial  should  be  done  publicly  and 
in  order,  would  forbid  it." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Septimius  ;  "  but,  it  may  be, 
scores  of  men  will  fall  to-day,  and  be  flung  into 
hasty  graves  without  funeral  rites  ;  without  its 
ever  being  known,  perhaps,  what  mother  has 
lost  her  son.  I  cannot  but  think  that  I  ought 
to  perform  the  dying  request  of  the  youth  whom 
I  have  slain.  He  trusted  in  me  not  to  uncover 
his  body  myself,  nor  to  betray  it  to  the  hands 
of  others." 

"  A  singular  request,"  said  the  good  minis 
ter,  gazing  with  deep  interest  at  the  beautiful 
dead  face,  and  graceful,  slender,  manly  figure. 
"  What  could  have  been  its  motive  ?  But  no 
matter.  I  think,  Septimius,  that  you  are  bound 
to  obey  his  request ;  indeed,  having  promised 
him,  nothing  short  of  an  impossibility  should 
prevent  your  keeping  your  faith.  Let  us  lose 
no  time,  then." 

With  few  but  deeply  solemn  rites  the  young 
stranger  was  laid  by  the  minister  and  the  youth 
who  slew  him  in  his  grave.  A  prayer  was  made, 
"3 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  then  Septimius,  gathering  some  branches 
and  twigs,  spread  them  over  the  face  that  was 
turned  upward  from  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  into 
which  the  sun  gleamed  downward,  throwing  its 
rays  so  as  almost  to  touch  it.  The  twigs  par 
tially  hid  it,  but  still  its  white  shone  through. 
Then  the  minister  threw  a  handful  of  earth 
upon  it,  and,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  burials, 
tears  fell  from  his  eyes  along  with  the  mould. 

"  It  is  sad,"  said  he,  "  this  poor  young  man, 
coming  from  opulence,  no  doubt,  a  dear  Eng 
lish  home,  to  die  here  for  no  end,  one  of  the 
first  fruits  of  a  bloody  war,  —  so  much  privately 
sacrificed.  But  let  him  rest,  Septimius.  I  am 
sorry  that  he  fell  by  your  hand,  though  it  in 
volves  no  shadow  of  a  crime.  But  death  is  a 
thing  too  serious  not  to  melt  into  the  nature  of 
a  man  like  you/' 

"  It  does  not  weigh  upon  my  conscience,  I 
think,"  said  Septimius ;  "  though  I  cannot  but 
feel  sorrow,  and  wish  my  hand  were  as  clean  as 
yesterday.  It  is,  indeed,  a  dreadful  thing  to 
take  human  life." 

"  It  is  a  most  serious  thing,"  replied  the  min 
ister  ;  "  but  perhaps  we  are  apt  to  overestimate 
the  importance  of  death  at  any  particular  mo 
ment.  If  the  question  were  whether  to  die  or 
to  live  forever,  then,  indeed,  scarcely  anything 
should  justify  the  putting  a  fellow  creature  to 
death.  But  since  it  only  shortens  his  earthly 
114 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

life,  and  brings  a  little  forward  a  change  which, 
since  God  permits  it,  is,  we  may  conclude,  as 
fit  to  take  place  then  as  at  any  other  time,  it 
alters  the  case.  I  often  think  that  there  are 
many  things  that  occur  to  us  in  our  daily  life, 
many  unknown  crises,  that  are  more  important 
to  us  than  this  mysterious  circumstance  of  death, 
which  we  deem  the  most  important  of  all.  All 
we  understand  of  it  is,  that  it  takes  the  dead 
person  away  from  our  knowledge  of  him,  which, 
while  we  live  with  him,  is  so  very  scanty." 

"  You  estimate  at  nothing,  it  seems,  his 
earthly  life,  which  might  have  been  so  happy." 

"  At  next  to  nothing,"  said  the  minister, 
"  since,  as  I  have  observed,  it  must,  at  any  rate, 
have  closed  so  soon." 

Septimius  thought  of  what  the  young  man, 
in  his  last  moments,  had  said  of  his  prospect 
or  opportunity  of  living  a  life  of  interminable 
length,  and  which  prospect  he  had  bequeathed 
to  himself.  But  of  this  he  did  not  speak  to  the 
minister,  being,  indeed,  ashamed  to  have  it  sup 
posed  that  he  would  put  any  serious  weight  on 
such  a  bequest,  although  it  might  be  that  the 
dark  enterprise  of  his  nature  had  secretly  seized 
upon  this  idea,  and,  though  yet  sane  enough 
to  be  influenced  by  a  fear  of  ridicule,  was  busy 
incorporating  it  with  his  thoughts. 

So  Septimius  smoothed  down  the  young 
stranger's  earthy  bed,  and  returned  to  his  homea 
"5 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

where  he  hung  up  the  sword  over  the  mantel 
piece  in  his  study,  and  hung  the  gold  watch,  too, 
on  a  nail,  —  the  first  time  he  had  ever  had  pos 
session  of  such  a  thing.  Nor  did  he  now  feel 
altogether  at  ease  in  his  mind  about  keeping  it, 

—  the  time-measurer  of  one  whose  mortal  life 
he  had  cut  off.    A  splendid  watch  it  was,  round 
as  a  turnip.     There  seems  to  be  a  natural  right 
in  one  who  has  slain  a  man  to  step  into  his  va 
cant  place  in  all  respects  ;  and  from  the  begin 
ning  of  man's  dealings  with  man  this  right  has 
been  practically  recognized,  whether  among  war 
riors  or  robbers,  as  paramount  to  every  other. 
Yet  Septimius  could  not  feel  easy  in  availing 
himself  of  this  right.    He  therefore  resolved  to 
keep  the  watch,  and  even  the  sword  and  fusil, 

—  which  were  less  questionable  spoils  of  war,  — 
only  till  he  should  be  able  to  restore  them  to 
some  representative  of  the  young  officer.     The 
contents  of  the  purse,  in  accordance  with  the 
request  of  the  dying  youth,  he  would  expend  in 
relieving  the  necessities  of  those  whom  the  war 
(now  broken  out,  and  of  which  no  one  could 
see  the  limit)  might  put  in  need  of  it.     The 
miniature,  with  its  broken  and  shattered   face, 
that  had  so  vainly  interposed  itself  between  its 
wearer  and  death,  had  been  sent  to  its  address. 

But  as  to  the  mysterious  document,  the  writ 
ten  paper,  that  he  had  laid  aside  without  un 
folding  it,  but  with  a  care  that  betokened  more 
116 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

interest  in  it  than  in  either  gold  or  weapon,  or 
even  in  the  golden  representative  of  that  earthly 
time  on  which  he  set  so  high  a  value.  There 
was  something  tremulous  in  his  touch  of  it ;  it 
seemed  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  it  by  the  mode  in 
which  he  hid  it  away,  and  secured  himself  from 
it,  as  it  were. 

This  done,  the  air  of  the  room,  the  low-ceil- 
inged  eastern  •  room  where  he  studied  and 
thought,  became  too  close  for  him,  and  he  has 
tened  out ;  for  he  was  full  of  the  unshaped  sense 
of  all  that  had  befallen,  and  the  perception  of 
the  great  public  event  of  a  broken-out  war  was 
intermixed  with  that  of  what  he  had  done  per 
sonally  in  the  great  struggle  that  was  beginning. 
He  longed,  too,  to  know  what  was  the  news  of 
the  battle  that  had  gone  rolling  onward  along 
the  hitherto  peaceful  country  road,  converting 
everywhere  (this  demon  of  war,  we  mean),  with 
one  blast  of  its  red  sulphurous  breath,  the  peace 
ful  husbandman  to  a  soldier  thirsting  for  blood. 
He  turned  his  steps,  therefore,  towards  the  vil 
lage,  thinking  it  probable  that  news  must  have 
arrived  either  of  defeat  or  victory,  from  messen 
gers  or  fliers,  to  cheer  or  sadden  the  old  men, 
the  women,  and  the  children,  who  alone  perhaps 
remained  there. 

But  Septimius  did  not  get  to  the  village.  As 
1  e  passed  along  by  the  cottage  that  has  been 
already  described,  Rose  Garfield  was  standing 
117 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

at  the  door,  peering  anxiously  forth  to  know 
what  was  the  issue  of  the  conflict,  —  as  it  has 
been  woman's  fate  to  do  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world,  and  is  so  still.  Seeing  Septimius, 
she  forgot  the  restraint  that  she  had  hitherto 
kept  herself  under,  and,  flying  at  him  like  a 
bird,  she  cried  out,  "  Septimius,  dear  Septimius, 
where  have  you  been  ?  What  news  do  you 
bring  ?  You  look  as  if  you  had  seen  some 
strange  and  dreadful  thing." 

"  Ah,  is  it  so  ?  Does  my  face  tell  such 
stories  ?  "  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "  I  did 
not  mean  it  should.  Yes,  Rose,  I  have  seen 
and  done  such  things  as  change  a  man  in  a 
moment." 

"  Then  you  have  been  in  this  terrible  fight/' 
said  Rose. 

"  Yes,  Rose,  I  have  had  my  part  in  it,"  an 
swered  Septimius. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  relieving  his  over 
burdened  mind  by  telling  her  what  had  hap 
pened  no  farther  off  than  on  the  hill  above  them  ; 
but,  seeing  her  excitement,  and  recollecting  her 
own  momentary  interview  with  the  young  offi 
cer,  and  the  forced  intimacy  and  link  that  had 
been  established  between  them  by  the  kiss,  he 
feared  to  agitate  her  further  by  telling  her  that 
that  gay  and  beautiful  young  man  had  since 
been  slain,  and  deposited  in  a  bloody  grave  by 
his  hands.  And  yet  the  recollection  of  that  kiss 
118 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

caused  a  thrill  of  vengeful  joy  at  the  thought 
that  the  perpetrator  had  since  expiated  his  of 
fence  with  his  life,  and  that  it  was  himself  that 
did  it,  so  deeply  was  Septimius's  Indian  nature 
of  revenge  and  blood  incorporated  with  that  of 
more  peaceful  forefathers,  although  Septimius 
had  grace  enough  to  chide  down  that  bloody 
spirit,  feeling  that  it  made  him,  not  a  patriot, 
but  a  murderer. 

"  Ah,"  said  Rose,  shuddering,  "  it  is  awful 
when  we  must  kill  one  another  !  And  who 
knows  where  it  will  end  ?  " 

"  With  me  it  will  end  here,  Rose,"  said  Sep 
timius.  "It  may  be  lawful  for  any  man,  even 
if  he  have  devoted  himself  to  God,  or  however 
peaceful  his  pursuits,  to  fight  to  the  death  when 
the  enemy's  step  is  on  the  soil  of  his  home  ;  but 
only  for  that  perilous  juncture,  which  passed, 
he  should  return  to  his  own  way  of  peace.  I 
have  done  a  terrible  thing  for  once,  dear  Rose, 
one  that  might  well  trace  a  dark  line  through 
all  my  future  life  ;  but  henceforth  I  cannot  think 
it  my  duty  to  pursue  any  further  a  work  for 
which  my  studies  and  my  nature  unfit  me." 

"  O  no  !  O  no  !  "  said  Rose  ;  "  never  !  and 
you  a  minister,  or  soon  to  be  one.  There  must 
be  some  peacemakers  left  in  the  world,  or  every 
thing  will  turn  to  blood  and  confusion  ;  for  even 
women  grow  dreadfully  fierce  in  these  times. 
My  old  grandmother  laments  her  bedridden- 
119 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ness,  because,  she  says,  she  cannot  go  to  cheer 
on  the  people  against  the  enemy.  But  she  re 
members  the  old  times  of  the  Indian  wars,  when 
the  women  were  as  much  in  danger  of  death 
as  the  men,  and  so  were  almost  as  fierce  as  they, 
and  killed  men  sometimes  with  their  own  hands. 
But  women,  nowadays,  ought  to  be  gentler  ;  let 
the  men  be  fierce,  if  they  must,  except  you,  and 
such  as  you,  Septimius." 

<c  Ah,  dear  Rose,"  said  Septimius,  "  I  have 
not  the  kind  and  sweet  impulses  that  you  speak 
of.  I  need  something  to  soften  and  warm  my 
cold,  hard  life  ;  something  to  make  me  feel  how 
dreadful  this  time  of  warfare  is.  I  need  you, 
dear  Rose,  who  are  all  kindness  of  heart  and 
mercy." 

And  here  Septimius,  hurried  away  by  I  know 
not  what  excitement  of  the  time,  —  the  dis 
turbed  state  of  the  country,  his  own  ebullition 
of  passion,  the  deed  he  had  done,  the  desire  to 
press  one  human  being  close  to  his  life,  because 
he  had  shed  the  blood  of  another,  his  half- 
formed  purposes,  his  shapeless  impulses  ;  in 
short,  being  affected  by  the  whole  stir  of  his 
nature, — spoke  to  Rose  of  love,  and  with  an 
energy  that,  indeed,  there  was  no  resisting  when 
once  it  broke  bounds.  And  Rose,whose  maiden 
thoughts,  to  say  the  truth,  had  long  dwelt  upon 
this  young  man,  —  admiring  him  for  a  certain 
dark  beauty,  knowing  him  familiarly  from  child- 

120 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

hood,  and  yet  having  the  sense,  that  is  so  be 
witching,  of  remoteness,  intermixed  with  inti 
macy,  because  he  was  so  unlike  herself;  having 
a  woman's  respect  for  scholarship,  her  imagina 
tion  the  more  impressed  by  all  in  him  that  she 
could  not  comprehend,  —  Rose  yielded  to  his 
impetuous  suit,  and  gave  him  the  troth  that  he 
requested.  And  yet  it  was  with  a  sort  of  re 
luctance  and  drawing  back  ;  her  whole  nature, 
her  secretest  heart,  her  deepest  womanhood, 
perhaps,  did  not  consent.  There  was  some 
thing  in  Septimius,  in  his  wild,  mixed  nature, 
the  monstrousness  that  had  grown  out  of  his 
hybrid  race,  the  black  infusions,  too,  which 
melancholic  men  had  left  there,  the  devilishness 
that  had  been  symbolized  in  the  popular  re 
gard  about  his  family,  that  made  her  shiver, 
even  while  she  came  the  closer  to  him  for  that 
very  dread.  And  when  he  gave  her  the  kiss 
of  betrothment  her  lips  grew  white.  If  it  had 
not  been  in  the  day  of  turmoil,  if  he  had  asked 
her  in  any  quiet  time,  when  Rose's  heart  was  in 
its  natural  mood,  it  may  well  be  that,  with  tears 
and  pity  for  him,  and  half-pity  for  herself,  Rose 
would  have  told  Septimius  that  she  did  not 
think  she  could  love  him  well  enough  to  be  his 
wife. 

And  howr  was  it  with  Septimius  ?  Well,  there 
was  a  singular  correspondence  in  his  feelings  to 
those  of  Rose  Garfield.  At  first,  carried  away 

121 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

by  a  passion  that  seized  him  all  unawares,  and 
seemed  to  develop  itself  all  in  a  moment,  he 
felt,  and  so  spoke  to  Rose,  so  pleaded  his  suit, 
as  if  his  whole  earthly  happiness  depended  on 
her  consent  to  be  his  bride.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  her  love  would  be  the  sunshine  in  the 
gloomy  dungeon  of  his  life.  But  when  her 
bashful,  downcast,  tremulous  consent  was  given, 
then  immediately  came  a  strange  misgiving  into 
his  mind.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  taken  to  him 
self  something  good  and  beautiful  doubtless  in 
itself,  but  which  might  be  the  exchange  for  one 
more  suited  to  him,  that  he  must  now  give  up. 
The  intellect,  which  was  the  prominent  point 
in  Septimius,  stirred  and  heaved,  crying  out 
vaguely  that  its  own  claims,  perhaps,  were  ig 
nored  in  this  contract.  Septimius  had  perhaps 
no  right  to  love  at  all ;  if  he  did,  it  should  have 
been  a  woman  of  another  make,  who  could  be 
his  intellectual  companion  and  helper.  And 
then,  perchance,  —  perchance,  —  there  was  de 
stined  for  him  some  high,  lonely  path,  in  which, 
to  make  any  progress,  to  come  to  any  end,  he 
must  walk  unburdened  by  the  affections.  Such 
thoughts  as  these  depressed  and  chilled  (as 
many  men  have  found  them,  or  similar  ones, 
to  do)  the  moment  of  success  that  should  have 
been  the  most  exulting  in  the  world.  And  so, 
in  the  kiss  which  these  two  lovers  had  exchanged 
there  was,  after  all,  something  that  repelled ;  and 

122 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

when  they  parted  they  wondered  at  their  strange 
states  of  mind,  but  would  not  acknowledge  that 
they  had  done  a  thing  that  ought  not  to  have 
been  done.  Nothing  is  surer,  however,  than 
that,  if  we  suffer  ourselves  to  be  drawn  into 
too  close  proximity  with  people,  if  we  over 
estimate  the  degree  of  our  proper  tendency 
towards  them,  or  theirs  towards  us,  a  reaction 
is  sure  to  follow. 

Septimius  quitted  Rose,  and  resumed  his  walk 
towards  the  village.  But  now  it  was  near  sun 
set,  and  there  began  to  be  straggling  passengers 
along  the  road,  some  of  whom  came  slowly,  as 
if  they  had  received  hurts  ;  all  seemed  wearied. 
Among  them  one  form  appeared  which  Rose 
soon  found  that  she  recognized.  It  was  Rob 
ert  Hagburn,  with  a  shattered  firelock  in  his 
hand,  broken  at  the  butt,  and  his  left  arm  bound 
with  a  fragment  of  his  shirt,  and  suspended  in 
a  handkerchief;  and  he  walked  weariedly,  but 
brightened  up  at  sight  of  Rose,  as  if  ashamed 
to  let  her  see  how  exhausted  and  dispirited  he 
was.  Perhaps  he  expected  a  smile,  at  least  a 
more  earnest  reception  than  he  met ;  for  Rose, 
with  the  restraint  of  what  had  recently  passed 
drawing  her  back,  merely  went  gravely  a  few 
steps  to  meet  him,  a'.d  said,  "  Robert,  how 
tired  and  pale  you  look  !  Are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  replied  Robert 
123 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Hagburn ;  "  a  scratch  on  my  left  arm  from  an 
officer's  sword,  with  whose  head  my  gunstock 
made  instant  acquaintance.  It  is  no  matter. 
Rose ;  you  do  not  care  for  it,  nor  do  I  either." 

"  How  can  you  say  so,  Robert  ?  "  she  re 
plied.  But  without  more  greeting  he  passed 
her,  and  went  into  his  own  house,  where,  fling 
ing  himself  into  a  chair,  he  remained  in  that  de 
spondency  that  men  generally  feel  after  a  fight, 
even  if  a  successful  one. 

Septimius,  the  next  day,  lost  no  time  in  writ 
ing  a  letter  to  the  direction  given  him  by  the 
young  officer,  conveying  a  brief  account  of  the 
latter's  death  and  burial,  and  a  signification  that 
he  held  in  readiness  to  give  up  certain  articles 
of  property,  at  any  future  time,  to  his  represent 
atives,  mentioning  also  the  amount  of  money 
contained  in  the  purse,  and  his  intention,  in 
compliance  with  the  verbal  will  of  the  deceased, 
to  expend  it  in  alleviating  the  wants  of  prison 
ers.  Having  so  done,  he  went  up  on  the  hill 
to  look  at  the  grave,  and  satisfy  himself  that 
the  scene  there  had  not  been  a  dream  ;  a  point 
which  he  was  inclined  to  question,  in  spite  of 
the  tangible  evidence  of  the  sword  and  watch, 
which  still  hung  over  the  mantelpiece.  There 
was  the  little  mound,  however,  looking  so  in- 
controvertibly  a  grave,  that  it  seemed  to  him  as 
if  all  the  world  must  see  it,  and  wonder  at  the 
fact  of  its  being  there,  and  spend  their  wits  in 
124 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

conjecturing  who  slept  within  ;  and,  indeed,  it 
seemed  to  give  the  affair  a  questionable  char 
acter,  this  secret  burial,  and  he  wondered  and 
wondered  why  the  young  man  had  been  so  ear 
nest  about  it.  Well,  there  was  the  grave  ;  and, 
moreover,  on  the  leafy  earth,  where  the  dying 
youth  had  lain,  there  were  traces  of  blood, 
which  no  rain  had  yet  washed  away.  Septimius 
wondered  at  the  easiness  with  which  he  acqui 
esced  in  this  deed  ;  in  fact,  he  felt  in  a  slight 
degree  the  effects  of  that  taste  of  blood,  which 
makes  the  slaying  of  men,  like  any  other  abuse, 
sometimes  become  a  passion.  Perhaps  it  was 
his  Indian  trait  stirring  in  him  again  ;  at  any 
rate,  it  is  not  delightful  to  observe  how  readily 
man  becomes  a  blood-shedding  animal. 

Looking  down  from  the  hilltop,  he  saw  the 
little  dwelling  of  Rose  Garfield,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  girl  herself,  passing  the  windows 
or  the  door,  about  her  household  duties,  and 
listened  to  hear  the  singing  which  usually  broke 
out  of  her.  But  Rose,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
did  not  warble  as  usual  this  morning.  She  trod 
about  silently,  and  somehow  or  other  she  was 
translated  out  of  the  ideality  in  which  Septi 
mius  usually  enveloped  her,  and  looked  little 
more  than  a  New  England  girl,  very  pretty  in 
deed,  but  not  enough  so,  perhaps,  to  engross 
a  man's  life  and  higher  purposes  into  her  own 
narrow  circle  ;  so,  at  least,  Septimius  thought. 
125 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Looking  a  little  farther,  —  down  into  the  green 
recess  where  stood  Robert  Hagburn's  house, 
- —  he  saw  that  young  man,  looking  very  pale, 
with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  sitting  listlessly  on  a 
half-chopped  log  of  wood  which  was  not  likely 
soon  to  be  severed  by  Robert's  axe.  Like 
other  lovers,  Septimius  had  not  failed  to  be 
aware  that  Robert  Hagburn  was  sensible  to 
Rose  Garfield's  attractions ;  and  now,  as  he 
looked  down  on  them  both  from  his  elevated 
position,  he  wondered  if  it  would  not  have  been 
better  for  Rose's  happiness  if  her  thoughts  and 
virgin  fancies  had  settled  on  that  frank,  cheer 
ful,  able,  wholesome  young  man,  instead  of  on 
himself,  who  met  her  on  so  few  points ;  and  in 
relation  to  whom  there  was  perhaps  a  plant, 
that  had  its  root  in  the  grave,  that  would  en 
twine  itself  around  his  whole  life,  overshadow 
ing  it  with  dark,  rich  foliage  and  fruit  that  he 
alone  could  feast  upon. 

For  the  sombre  imagination  of  Septimius, 
though  he  kept  it  as  much  as  possible  away 
from  the  subject,  still  kept  hinting  and  whisper 
ing,  still  coming  back  to  the  point,  still  secretly 
suggesting  that  the  event  of  yesterday  was  to 
have  momentous  consequences  upon  his  fate. 

He  had  not  yet  looked  at  the  paper  which 

the  young   man    bequeathed  to  him ;   he   had 

laid  it  away  unopened  ;  not  that  he  felt  little 

interest  in  it,  but,  on  the  contrary,  because  he 

126 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

looked  for  some  blaze  of  light  which  had  been 
reserved  for  him  alone.  The  young  officer  had 
been  only  the  bearer  of  it  to  him,  and  he  had 
come  hither  to  die  by  his  hand,  because  that 
was  the  readiest  way  by  which  he  could  deliver 
his  message.  How  else,  in  the  infinite  chances 
of  human  affairs,  could  the  document  have 
found  its  way  to  its  destined  possessor  P  Thus 
mused  Septimius,  pacing  to  and  fro  on  the 
level  edge  of  his  hilltop,  apart  from  the  world, 
looking  down  occasionally  into  it,  and  seeing 
its  love  and  interest  away  from  him ;  while 
Rose,  it  might  be,  looking  upward,  saw  occa 
sionally  his  passing  figure,  and  trembled  at  the 
nearness  and  remoteness  that  existed  between 
them  ;  and  Robert  Hagburn  looked  too,  and 
wondered  what  manner  of  man  it  was  who, 
having  won  Rose  Garneld  (for  his  instinct  told 
him  this  was  so),  could  keep  that  distance  be 
tween  her  and  him,  thinking  remote  thoughts. 

Yes  ;  there  was  Septimius  treading  a  path  of 
his  own  on  the  hilltop  ;  his  feet  began  only 
that  morning  to  wear  it  in  his  walking  to  and 
fro,  sheltered  from  the  lower  world,  except  in 
occasional  glimpses,  by  the  birches  and  locusts 
that  threw  up  their  foliage  from  the  hillside. 
But  many  a  year  thereafter  he  continued  to 
tread  that  path,  till  it  was  worn  deep  with  his 
footsteps  and  trodden  down  hard  ;  and  it  was 
believed  by  some  of  his  superstitious  neighbors 
127 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

that  the  grass  and  little  shrubs  shrank  away 
from  his  path,  and  made  it  wider  on  that  ac 
count  ;  because  there  was  something  in  the 
broodings  that  urged  him  to  and  fro  along  the 
path  alien  to  nature  and  its  productions.  There 
was  another  opinion,  too,  that  an  invisible  fiend, 
one  of  his  relatives  by  blood,  walked  side  by 
side  with  him,  and  so  made  the  pathway  wider 
than  his  single  footsteps  could  have  made  it. 
But  all  this  was  idle,  and  was,  indeed,  only  the 
foolish  babble  that  hovers  like  a  mist  about 
men  who  withdraw  themselves  from  the  throng, 
and  involve  themselves  in  unintelligible  pur 
suits  and  interests  of  their  own.  For  the  pre 
sent,  the  small  world,  which  alone  knew  of  him, 
considered  Septimius  as  a  studious  young  man, 
who  was  fitting  for  the  ministry,  and  was  likely 
enough  to  do  credit  to  the  ministerial  blood 
that  he  drew  from  his  ancestors,  in  spite  of  the 
wild  stream  that  the  Indian  priest  had  con 
tributed  ;  and  perhaps  none  the  worse,  as  a 
clergyman,  for  having  an  instinctive  sense  of 
the  nature  of  the  Devil  from  his  traditionary 
claims  to  partake  of  his  blood.  But  what 
strange  interest  there  is  in  tracing  out  the  first 
steps  by  which  we  enter  on  a  career  that  influ 
ences  our  life  !  and  this  deep-worn  pathway  on 
the  hilltop,  passing  and  repassing  by  a  grave, 
seemed  to  symbolize  it  in  Septimius's  case. 
I  suppose  the  morbidness  of  Septimius's  dis- 
128 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

position  was  excited  by  the  circumstances  which 
had  put  the  paper  into  his  possession.  Had  he 
received  it  by  post,  it  might  not  have  impressed 
him  ;  he  might  possibly  have  looked  over  it 
with  ridicule,  and  tossed  it  aside.  But  he  had 
taken  it  from  a  dying  man,  and  he  felt  that  his 
fate  was  in  it ;  and  truly  it  turned  out  to  be  so. 
He  waited  for  a  fit  opportunity  to  open  it  and 
read  it ;  he  put  it  off  as  if  he  cared  nothing 
about  it ;  perhaps  it  was  because  he  cared  so 
much.  Whenever  he  had  a  happy  time  with 
Rose  (and,  moody  as  Septimius  was,  such  happy 
moments  came),  he  felt  that  then  was  not  the 
time  to  look  into  the  paper,  —  it  was  not  to  be 
read  in  a  happy  mood. 

Once  he  asked  Rose  to  walk  with  him  on 
the  hilltop. 

"  Why,  what  a  path  you  have  worn  here,  Sep 
timius  !  "  said  the  girl.  "  You  walk  miles  and 
miles  on  this  one  spot,  and  get  no  farther  on 
than  when  you  started.  That  is  strange  walk- 
ing!" 

"  I  don't  know,  Rose ;  I  sometimes  think  I 
get  a  little  onward.  But  it  is  sweeter  —  yes, 
much  sweeter,  I  find —  to  have  you  walking  on 
this  path  here  than  to  be  treading  it  alone." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Rose  ;  "  for  some 
times,  when  I  look  up  here,  and  see  you 
through  the  branches,  with  your  head  bent 
down,  and  your  hands  clasped  behind  you, 
129 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

treading,  treading,  treading,  always  in  one  way, 
I  wonder  whether  I  am  at  all  in  your  mind.  I 
don't  think,  Septimius,"  added  she,  looking  up 
in  his  face  and  smiling,  "  that  ever  a  girl  had 
just  such  a  young  man  for  a  lover/' 

"  No  young  man  ever  had  such  a  girl,  I  am 
sure,"  said  Septimius;  "so  sweet,  so  good  for 
him,  so  prolific  of  good  influences  !  " 

"  Ah,  it  makes  me  think  well  of  myself  to 
bring  such  a  smile  into  your  face  !  But,  Septi 
mius,  what  is  this  little  hillock  here  so  close  to 
our  path  ?  Have  you  heaped  it  up  here  for  a 
seat?  Shall  we  sit  down  upon  it  for  an  instant? 
—  for  it  makes  me  more  tired  to  walk  backward 
and  forward  on  one  path  than  to  go  straight 
forward  a  much  longer  distance." 

"Well;  but  we  will  not  sit  down  on  this 
hillock,"  said  Septimius,  drawing  her  away  from 
it.  "  Farther  out  this  way,  if  you  please,  Rose, 
where  we  shall  have  a  better  view  over  the  wide 
plain,  the  valley,  and  the  long,  tame  ridge  of 
hills  on  the  other  side,  shutting  it  in  like  human 
life.  It  is  a  landscape  that  never  tires,  though 
it  has  nothing  striking  about  it ;  and  I  am  glad 
that  there  are  no  great  hills  to  be  thrusting 
themselves  into  my  thoughts,  and  crowding 
out  better  things.  It  might  be  desirable,  in 
some  states  of  mind,  to  have  a  glimpse  of 
water,  —  to  have  the  lake  that  once  must  have 
130 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

covered  this  green  valley,  —  because  water  re 
flects  the  sky,  and  so  is  like  religion  in  life,  the 
spiritual  element." 

"  There  is  the  brook  running  through  it, 
though  we  do  not  see  it,"  replied  Rose ;  "  a 
torpid  little  brook,  to  be  sure  ;  but,  as  you  say, 
it  has  heaven  in  its  bosom,  like  Walden  Pond, 
or  any  wider  one." 

As  they  sat  together  on  the  hilltop,  they 
could  look  down  into  Robert  Hagburn's  en 
closure,  and  they  saw  him,  with  his  arm  now 
relieved  from  the  sling,  walking  about,  in  a  very 
erect  manner,  with  a  middle-aged  man  by  his 
side,  to  whom  he  seemed  to  be  talking  and  ex 
plaining  some  matter.  Even  at  that  distance 
Septimius  could  see  that  the  rustic  stoop  and 
uncouthness  had  somehow  fallen  away  from 
Robert,  and  that  he  seemed  developed. 

"  What  has  come  to  Robert  Hagburn  ?  "  said 
he.  "  He  looks  like  another  man  than  the  lout 
I  knew  a  few  weeks  ago." 

"  Nothing,"  said  Rose  Garfield,  "except  what 
comes  to  a  good  many  young  men  nowadays. 
He  has  enlisted,  and  is  going  to  the  war.  It  is 
a  pity  for  his  mother." 

"A  great  pity,"  said  Septimius.  "  Mothers 
are  greatly  to  be  pitied  all  over  the  country  just 
now,  and  there  are  some  even  more  to  be  pitied 
than  the  mothers,  though  many  of  them  do  not 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

know  or  suspect  anything  about  their  cause  of 
grief  at  present." 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak  ?  "  asked  Rose. 

"  I  mean  those  many  good  and  sweet  young 
girls,"  said  Septimius,  "who  would  have  been 
happy  wives  to  the  thousands  of  young  men  who 
now,  like  Robert  Hagburn,  are  going  to  the  war. 
Those  young  men  —  many  of  them  at  least  — 
will  sicken  and  die  in  camp,  or  be  shot  down, 
or  struck  through  with  bayonets  on  battlefields, 
and  turn  to  dust  and  bones  ;  while  the  girls  that 
would  have  loved  them,  and  made  happy  fire 
sides  for  them,  will  pine  and  wither,  and  tread 
along  many  sour  and  discontented  years,  and  at 
last  go  out  of  life  without  knowing  what  life  is. 
So  you  see,  Rose,  every  shot  that  takes  effect 
kills  two  at  least,  or  kills  one  and  worse  than 
kills  the  other." 

"  No  woman  will  live  single  on  account  of 
poor  Robert  Hagburn  being  shot,"  said  Rose, 
with  a  change  of  tone  ;  "  for  he  would  never  be 
married  were  he  to  stay  at  home  and  plough  the 
field." 

"  How  can  you  tell  that,  Rose  ?  "  asked  Sep-^ 
timius. 

Rose  did  not  tell  how  she  came  to  know  so 
much  about  Robert  Hagburn's  matrimonial  pur 
poses  ;  but  after  this  little  talk  it  appeared  as  if 
something  had  risen  up  between  them,  —  a  sort 
of  mist,  a  medium,  in  which  their  intimacy  was 
132 


SEPTIMIUS   FELTON 

not  increased ;  for  the  flow  and  interchange  of 
sentiment  was  balked,  and  they  took  only  one  or 
two  turns  in  silence  along  Septimius's  trodden 
path.  I  don't  know  exactly  what  it  was  ;  but 
there  are  cases  in  which  it  is  inscrutably  revealed 
to  persons  that  they  have  made  a  mistake  in  what 
is  of  the  highest  concern  to  them  ;  and  this  truth 
often  comes  in  the  shape  of  a  vague  depression  of 
the  spirit,  like  a  vapor  settling  down  on  a  land 
scape  ;  a  misgiving,  coming  and  going  perhaps, 
a  lack  of  perfect  certainty.  Whatever  it  was,  Rose 
and  Septimius  had  no  more  tender  and  playful 
words  that  day  ;  and  Rose  soon  went  to  look 
after  her  grandmother,  and  Septimius  went  and 
shut  himself  up  in  his  study,  after  making  an 
arrangement  to  meet  Rose  the  next  day. 

Septimius  shut  himself  up,  and  drew  forth  the 
document  which  the  young  officer,  with  that 
singular  smile  on  his  dying  face,  had  bequeathed 
to  him  as  the  reward  of  his  death.  It  was  in 
a  covering  of  folded  parchment,  right  through 
which,  as  aforesaid,  was  a  bullet  hole  and  some 
stains  of  blood.  Septimius  unrolled  the  parch 
ment  cover,  and  found  inside  a  manuscript, 
closely  written  in  a  crabbed  hand ;  so  crabbed, 
indeed,  that  Septimius  could  not  at  first  read 
a  word  of  it,  nor  even  satisfy  himself  in  what 
language  it  was  written.  There  seemed  to  be 
Latin  words,  and  some  interspersed  ones  in 
133 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Greek  characters,  and  here  and  there  he  could 
doubtfully  read  an  English  sentence  ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  it  was  an  unintelligible  mass,  convey 
ing  somehow  an  idea  that  it  was  the  fruit  of  vast 
labor  and  erudition,  emanating  from  a  mind  very 
full  of  books,  and  grinding  and  pressing  down 
the  great  accumulation  of  grapes  that  it  had 
gathered  from  so  many  vineyards,  and  squeez-- 
ing  out  rich  viscid  juices,  —  potent  wine,  —  with 
which  the  reader  might  get  drunk.  Some  of  it, 
moreover,  seemed,  for  the  further  mystification 
of  the  officer,  to  be  written  in  cipher  ;  a  needless 
precaution,  it  might  seem,  when  the  writer's 
natural  chirography  was  so  full  of  puzzle  and 
bewilderment. 

Septimius  looked  at  this  strange  manuscript, 
and  it  shook  in  his  hands  as  he  held  it  before 
his  eyes,  so  great  was  his  excitement.  Probably, 
doubtless,  it  was  in  a  great  measure  owing  to  the 
way  in  which  it  came  to  him,  with  such  circum 
stances  of  tragedy  and  mystery  ;  as  if —  so  secret 
and  so  important  was  it  —  it  could  not  be  within 
the  knowledge  of  two  persons  at  once,  and  there 
fore  it  was  necessary  that  one  should  die  in  the 
act  of  transmitting  it  to  the  hand  of  another, 
the  destined  possessor,  inheritor,  profiter  by  it. 
By  the  bloody  hand,  as  all  the  great  possessions 
in  this  world  have  been  gained  and  inherited, 
he  had  succeeded  to  the  legacy,  the  richest  that 
mortal  man  ever  could  receive.  He  pored  over 
'34 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

the  inscrutable  sentences,  and  wondered,  when 
he  should  succeed  in  reading  one,  if  it  might 
summon  up  a  subject-fiend,  appearing  with 
thunder  and  devilish  demonstrations.  And  by 
what  other  strange  chance  had  the  document 
come  into  the  hand  of  him  who  alone  was  fit  to 
receive  it?  It  seemed  to  Septimius,  in  his  en 
thusiastic  egotism,  as  if  the  whole  chain  of  events 
had  been  arranged  purposely  for  this  end  :  a 
difference  had  come  between  two  kindred  peo 
ples  ;  a  war  had  broken  out ;  a  young  officer, 
with  the  traditions  of  an  old  family  represented 
in  his  line,  had  marched,  and  had  met  with  a 
peaceful  student,  who  had  been  incited  from  high 
and  noble  motives  to  take  his  life  ;  then  came  a 
strange,  brief  intimacy,  in  which  his  victim  made 
the  slayer  his  heir.  All  these  chances,  as  they 
seemed,  all  these  interferences  of  Providence, 
as  they  doubtless  were,  had  been  necessary  in 
order  to  put  this  manuscript  into  the  hands  of 
Septimius,  who  now  pored  over  it,  and  could  not 
with  certainty  read  one  word  ! 

But  this  did  not  trouble  him,  except  for  the 
momentary  delay.  Because  he  felt  well  assured 
that  the  strong,  concentrated  study  that  he  would 
bring  to  it  would  remove  all  difficulties,  as  the 
rays  of  a  lens  melt  stones  ;  as  the  telescope 
pierces  through  densest  light  of  stars,  and  re 
solves  them  into  their  individual  brilliancies. 
He  could  afford  to  spend  years  upon  it,  if  it 
135 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

were  necessary;  but  earnestness  and  application 
should  do  quickly  the  work  of  years. 

Amid  these  musings  he  was  interrupted  by 
his  Aunt  Keziah  ;  though  generally  observant 
enough  of  her  nephew's  studies,  and  feeling  a 
sanctity  in  them,  both  because  of  his  intending 
to  be  a  minister  and  because  she  had  a  great 
reverence  for  learning,  even  if  heathenish,  this 
good  old  lady  summoned  Septimius  somewhat 
peremptorily  to  chop  wood  for  her  domestic  pur 
poses.  How  strange  it  is,  the  way  in  which  we 
are  summoned  from  all  high  purposes  by  these 
little  homely  necessities!  —  all  symbolizing  the 
great  fact  that  the  earthly  part  of  us,  with  its 
demands,  takes  up  the  greater  portion  of  all  our 
available  force.  So  Septimius,  grumbling  and 
groaning,  went  to  the  woodshed  and  exercised 
himself  for  an  hour  as  the  old  lady  requested  ; 
and  it  was  only  by  instinct  that  he  worked,  hardly 
conscious  what  he  was  doing.  The  whole  of 
passing  life  seemed  impertinent ;  or  if,  for  an 
instant,  it  seemed  otherwise,  then  his  lonely 
speculations  and  plans  seemed  to  become  im 
palpable,  and  to  have  only  the  consistency  of 
vapor,  which  his  utmost  concentration  succeeded 
no  further  than  to  make  into  the  likeness  of  ab 
surd  faces,  mopping,  mowing,  and  laughing  at 
him. 

But  that  sentence  of  mystic  meaning  shone 
out  before  him  like  a  transparency,  illuminated 
136 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

in  the  darkness  of  his  mind  ;  he  determined  to 
take  it  for  his  motto  until  he  should  be  victori 
ous  in  his  quest.  When  he  took  his  candle,  to 
retire  apparently  to  bed,  he  again  drew  forth  the 
manuscript,  and,  sitting  down  by  the  dim  light, 
tried  vainly  to  read  it ;  but  he  could  not  as  yet 
settle  himself  to  concentrated  and  regular  effort ; 
he  kept  turning  the  leaves  of  the  manuscript,  in 
the  hope  that  some  other  illuminated  sentence 
might  gleam  out  upon  him,  as  the  first  had  done, 
and  shed  a  light  on  the  context  around  it;  and 
that  then  another  would  be  discovered,  with  sim 
ilar  effect,  until  the  whole  document  would  thus 
be  illuminated  with  separate  stars  of  light,  con 
verging  and  concentrating  in  one  radiance  that 
should  make  the  whole  visible.  But  such  was 
his  bad  fortune,  not  another  word  of  the  manu 
script  was  he  able  to  read  that  whole  evening; 
and,  moreover,  while  he  had  still  an  inch  of  candle 
left,  Aunt  Keziah,  in  her  nightcap,  —  as  witch- 
like  a  figure  as  ever  \vent  to  a  wizard  meeting 
in  the  forest  with  Septimius's  ancestor,  —  ap 
peared  at  the  door  of  the  room,  aroused  from 
her  bed,  and  shaking  her  finger  at  him. 

"  Septimius,"  said  she,  "  you  keep  me  awake, 
and  you  will  ruin  your  eyes  and  turn  your  head, 
if  you  study  till  midnight  in  this  manner. 
You  '11  never  live  to  be  a  minister,  if  this  is  the 
way  you  go  on." 

"  Well,  well,  Aunt  Keziah,"  said  Septimius, 
137 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

covering  his  manuscript  with  a  book,  "  I  \\m 
just  going  to  bed  now." 

"  Good-night,  then/'  said  the  old  womax\ ; 
"  and  God  bless  your  labors." 

Strangely  enough,  a  glance  at  the  manuscript, 
as  he  hid  it  from  the  old  woman,  had  seemed 
to  Septimius  to  reveal  another  sentence,  of  which 
he  had  imperfectly  caught  the  purport  ;  and 
when  she  had  gone,  he  in  vain  sought  the  place, 
and  vainly,  too,  endeavored  to  recall  the  mean 
ing  of  what  he  had  read.  Doubtless  his  fancy 
exaggerated  the  importance  of  the  sentence,  and 
he  felt  as  if  it  might  have  vanished  from  the 
book  forever.  In  fact,  the  unfortunate  young 
man,  excited  and  tossed  to  and  fro  by  a  variety 
of  unusual  impulses,  was  got  into  a  bad  way, 
and  was  likely  enough  to  go  mad,  unless  the 
balancing  portion  of  his  mind  proved  to  be  of 
greater  volume  and  effect  than  as  yet  appeared 
to  be  the  case. 

The  next  morning  he  was  up,  bright  and  early, 
poring  over  the  manuscript  with  the  sharpened 
wits  of  the  new  day,  peering  into  its  night,  into 
its  old,  blurred,  forgotten  dream  ;  and,  indeed, 
he  had  been  dreaming  about  it,  and  was  fully 
possessed  with  the  idea  that,  in  his  dream,  he 
had  taken  up  the  inscrutable  document,  and  read 
it  off  as  glibly  as  he  would  the  page  of  a  modern 
drama,  in  a  continual  rapture  with  the  deep  truth 

138 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

that  it  made  clear  to  his  comprehension,  and 
the  lucid  way  in  which  it  evolved  the  mode  in 
%vhich  man  might  be  restored  to  his  originally 
undying  state.  So  strong  was  the  impression, 
that  when  he  unfolded  the  manuscript,  it  was 
with  almost  the  belief  that  the  crabbed  old  hand 
writing  would  be  plain  to  him.  Such  did  not 
prove  to  be  the  case,  however  ;  so  far  from  it, 
that  poor  Septimius  in  vain  turned  over  the  yel 
low  pages  in  quest  of  the  one  sentence  which 
he  had  been  able,  or  fancied  he  had  been  able, 
to  read  yesterday.  The  illumination  that  had 
brought  it  out  was  now  faded,  and  all  was  a  blur, 
an  inscrutableness,  a  scrawl  of  unintelligible  char 
acters  alike.  So  much  did  this  affect  him,  that 
he  had  almost  a  mind  to  tear  it  into  a  thousand 
fragments,  and  scatter  it  out  of  the  window  to 
the  west  wind,  that  was  then  blowing  past  the 
house  ;  and  if,  in  that  summer  season,  there  had 
been  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  it  is  possible  that  easy 
realization  of  a  destructive  impulse  might  have 
incited  him  to  fling  the  accursed  scrawl  into  the 
hottest  of  the  flames,  and  thus  returned  it  to 
the  Devil,  who,  he  suspected,  was  the  original 
author  of  it.  Had  he  done  so,  what  strange  and 
gloomy  passages  would  I  have  been  spared  the 
pain  of  relating !  How  different  would  have  been 
the  life  of  Septimius  !  —  a  thoughtful  preacher 
of  God's  word,  taking  severe  but  conscientious 
views  of  man's  state  and  relations,  a  heavy- 

139 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

browed  walker  and  worker  on  earth,  and,  finally, 
a  slumberer  in  an  honored  grave,  with  an  epi 
taph  bearing  testimony  to  his  great  usefulness 
in  his  generation. 

But,  in  the  meantime,  here  was  the  trouble 
some  day  passing  over  him,  and  pestering,  be 
wildering,  and  tripping  him  up  with  its  mere 
sublunary  troubles,  as  the  days  will  all  of  us  the 
moment  we  try  to  do  anything  that  we  flatter 
ourselves  is  of  a  little  more  importance  than 
others  are  doing.  Aunt  Keziah  tormented  him 
a  great  while  about  the  rich  field,  just  across  the 
road,  in  front  of  the  house,  which  Septimius  had 
neglected  the  cultivation  of,  unwilling  to  spare 
the  time  to  plough,  to  plant,  to  hoe  it  himself, 
but  hired  a  lazy  lout  of  the  village,  when  he 
might  just  as  well  have  employed  and  paid  wages 
to  the  scarecrow  which  Aunt  Keziah  dressed  out 
in  ancient  habiliments,  and  set  up  in  the  midst 
of  the  corn.  Then  came  an  old  codger  from 
the  village,  talking  to  Septimius  about  the  war, 
—  a  theme  of  which  he  was  weary  :  telling  the 
rumor  of  skirmishes  that  the  next  day  would 
prove  to  be  false,  of  battles  that  were  immedi 
ately  to  take  place,  of  encounters  with  the 
enemy  in  which  our  side  showed  the  valor  of 
twentyfold  heroes,  but  had  to  retreat ;  babbling 
about  shells  and  mortars,  battalions,  manoeuvres, 
angles,  fascines,  and  other  items  of  military  art ; 
for  war  had  filled  the  whole  brain  of  the  people, 
140 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  enveloped  the  whole  thought  of  man  in  a 
mist  of  gunpowder. 

In  this  way,  sitting  on  his  doorstep,  or  in  the 
very  study,  haunted  by  such  speculations,  this 
wretched  old  man  would  waste  the  better  part 
of  a  summer  afternoon,  while  Septimius  listened, 
returning  abstracted  monosyllables,  answering 
amiss,  and  wishing  his  persecutor  jammed  into 
one  of  the  cannons  he  talked  about,  and  fired 
off,  to  end  his  interminable  babble  in  one  roar; 
[talking]  of  great  officers  coming  from  France 
and  other  countries  ;  of  overwhelming  forces 
from  England,  to  put  an  end  to  the  war  at 
once  ;  of  the  unlikelihood  that  it  ever  should 
be  ended;  of  its  hopelessness;  of  its  certainty 
of  a  good  and  speedy  end. 

Then  came  limping  along  the  lane  a  disabled 
soldier,  begging  his  way  home  from  the  field, 
which,  a  little  while  ago,  he  had  sought  in  the 
full  vigor  of  rustic  health  he  was  never  to  know 
again  ;  with  whom  Septimius  had  to  talk,  and 
relieve  his  wants  as  far  as  he  could  (though  not 
from  the  poor  young  officer's  deposit  of  English 
gold),  and  send  him  on  his  way. 

Then  came  the  minister  to  talk  with  his 
former  pupil,  about  whom  he  had  latterly  had 
much  meditation,  not  understanding  what  mood 
had  taken  possession  of  him  ;  for  the  minister 
was  a  man  of  insight,  and  from  conversations 
with  Septimius,  as  searching  as  he  knew  how  to 
14.1 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

make  them,  he  had  begun  to  doubt  whether 
he  were  sufficiently  sound  in  faith  to  adopt  the 
clerical  persuasion.  Not  that  he  supposed  him 
to  be  anything  like  a  confirmed  unbeliever  ;  but 
he  thought  it  probable  that  these  doubts,  these 
strange,  dark,  disheartening  suggestions  of  the 
Devil,  that  so  surely  infect  certain  temperaments 
and  measures  of  intellect,  were  tormenting  poor 
Septimius,  and  pulling  him  back  from  the  path 
in  which  he  was  capable  of  doing  so  much  good. 
So  he  came  this  afternoon  to  talk  seriously  with 
him,  and  to  advise  him,  if  the  case  were  as  he 
supposed,  to  get  for  a  time  out  of  the  track  of 
the  thought  in  which  he  had  so  long  been  en 
gaged  ;  to  enter  into  active  life  ;  and  by  and  by, 
when  the  morbid  influences  should  have  been 
overcome  by  a  change  of  mental  and  moral  re 
ligion,  he  might  return,  fresh  and  healthy,  to  his 
original  design. 

"  What  can  I  do,"  asked  Septimius  gloomily, 
"  what  business  take  up,  when  the  whole  land 
lies  waste  and  idle,  except  for  this  war  ?  " 

"  There  is  the  very  business,  then,"  said  the 
minister.  "  Do  you  think  God's  work  is  not 
to  be  done  in  the  field  as  well  as  in  the  pulpit  ? 
You  are  strong,  Septimius,  of  a  bold  character, 
and  have  a  mien  and  bearing  that  gives  you  a 
natural  command  among  men.  Go  to  the  wars, 
and  do  a  valiant  part  for  your  country,  and  come 
back  to  your  peaceful  mission  when  the  enemy 
142 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

has  vanished.  Or  you  might  go  as  chaplain 
to  a  regiment,  and  use  either  hand  in  battle,  — 
pray  for  success  before  a  battle,  help  win  it  with 
sword  or  gun,  and  give  thanks  to  God,  kneeling 
on  the  bloody  field,  at  its  close.  You  have 
already  stretched  one  foe  on  your  native  soil." 

Septimius  could  not  but  smile  within  himself 
at  this  warlike  and  bloody  counsel ;  and,  joining 
it  with  some  similar  exhortations  from  Aunt 
Keziah,  he  was  inclined  to  think  that  women 
and  clergymen  are,  in  matters  of  war,  the  most 
uncompromising  and  bloodthirsty  of  the  com 
munity.  However,  he  replied  coolly,  that  his 
moral  impulses  and  his  feelings  of  duty  did  not 
exactly  impel  him  in  this  direction,  and  that  he 
was  of  opinion  that  war  was  a  business  in  which 
a  man  could  not  engage  with  safety  to  his  con 
science,  unless  his  conscience  actually  drove  him 
into  it ;  and  that  this  made  all  the  difference  be 
tween  heroic  battle  and  murderous  strife.  The 
good  minister  had  nothing  very  effectual  to 
answrer  to  this,  and  took  his  leave,  with  a  still 
stronger  opinion  than  before  that  there  was 
something  amiss  in  his  pupil's  mind. 

By  this  time,  this  thwarting  day  had  gone  on 
through  its  course  of  little  and  great  impedi 
ments  to  his  pursuit,  —  the  discouragements  of 
trifling  and  earthly  business,  of  purely  imperti 
nent  interruption,  of  severe  and  disheartening 
opposition  from  the  powerful  counteraction  of 


a   Trrmr.,  —  mi  i 


HI  vmm  ie  zan 


T.IT    r^    TI     Tllr    jr1"^   T      r^T    IT  ZT"1"  T-^rT  H 


r^   ^ ZIT.I.    irr_ri::rTs«-   z^i    ji^r  : 

r-Ki.  -g-m-rt^i-^-  rs-s^rrr.  nf  ^gru.  rr  zer-r^: 


SECT  i  "TrmEr  IT  iT- 

Trmr, 


rw?TT^r.  25  n  ^n-iisr  um.    : 


Tue  sr- 
iod-  2&i  TDC:  mr  ui_£  sarrr 


:  2! 


Tr  ~rg-  2^r^  mi    vsii       r    er 
:  Tuners  ^if  Tusssn 
nrccie^  trm-^  TL 
r  vaft-  is 


er  nr^e^-  CTT 


Tis*  ^r  ter  ns^cr^r-  SK  «e^3rec-  IKX: 


T:H=  T^S-^.     A^af  K. 


5£r  I1MJT3  FELTQX 


TK-nen:  rner  v  e~t 
said  TD  iterr  :  — 


"ran  IIETT  ror  n'jursd  me  ~riiar  ins  s 
IBDST  HErTfr  worm,  oic  rnat  I  .rre  na?  rr^  twr 
rm    End   DCETII,  sn£  i?  taimf  ir 
rrrerr  eDUElrr  :  EEC  rhar  Gnz 
to  ins  earmrr  miidrer  ^  end  rnar  all 


"  And  iiEi^e  I  rnrriiicsd  T*nr  of  al  riis^  T 

£  IL-^T-V  laurnrsr.    •*•  IT  s: 
imr  1  shrmid  unr  IIET^ 
irD^  fnr  IL     Bur  ^rnr  are  -rs 
ETUI  iiErre  uoc  iruTnsBed  me  I^-OEX'.' 

u  D^>  I  fvsr  rTrrsr  ynn,  rben,  ^.nsf  7  '*  ask 

in?  hiack  ir^v  mar  nsr 
nr  surrnse  arm  zisnVsssirr^. 

,"  said  -R:s£,iacinj:  imr 
re^  am  smiinir-  root  rite  cinud  sr  s?  XT 
ir  awar  :  •*•  n-iier  -rnn  i*r*vr  unor  me  Ik:^ 
1  arr.  £  iirrfe  afraid  v^ni:  ^cil  icar  ute^  al  in 


*  N  ^v/'  said  fCTrimi 
siiall  iicr^  -rnir  ciirik^  :  TT   hf  hsarsr   nr 
C,  a:-  srifer  an^chsr  kind  of  r 


r  SETTTU;  ,  ne  5RBK»    ter  7^  iim,  anc  srrr«r? 
fcis?  her.  ^iiib  ^nse^  iaucnmc  ai\d 
£  ncz,  •*•  The 


:  :r  WG? 
ek  rhar  he  sur^sded  ir  7.ntu:hmc..    it 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

truth,  except  for  that  first  one,  at  the  moment 
of  their  plighted  troths,  I  doubt  whether  Septi- 
mius  ever  touched  those  soft,  sweet  lips,  where 
the  smiles  dwelt  and  the  little  pouts.  He  now 
returned  to  his  study,  and  questioned  with  him 
self  whether  he  should  touch  that  weary,  ugly, 
yellow,  blurred,  unintelligible,  bewitched,  mys 
terious,  bullet-penetrated,  blood-stained  manu 
script  again.  There  was  an  undefinable  re 
luctance  to  do  so,  and  at  the  same  time  an 
enticement  (irresistible,  as  it  proved)  drawing 
him  towards  it.  He  yielded,  and  taking  it  from 
his  desk,  in  which  the  precious,  fatal  treasure 
was  locked  up,  he  plunged  into  it  again,  and 
this  time  with  a  certain  degree  of  success.  He 
found  the  line  which  had  before  gleamed  out, 
and  vanished  again,  and  which  now  started  out 
in  strong  relief;  even  as  when  sometimes  we  see 
a  certain  arrangement  of  stars  in  the  heavens, 
and  again  lose  it,  by  not  seeing  its  individual 
stars  in  the  same  relation  as  before  ;  even  so, 
looking  at  the  manuscript  in  a  different  way, 
Septimius  saw  this  fragment  of  a  sentence,  and 
saw,  moreover,  what  was  necessary  to  give  it  a 
certain  meaning.  "  Set  the  root  in  a  grave,  and 
wait  for  what  shall  blossom.  It  will  be  very 
rich,  and  full  of  juice."  This  was  the  purport, 
he  now  felt  sure,  of  the  sentence  he  had  lighted 
upon  ;  and  he  took  it  to  refer  to  the  mode  of 
producing  something  that  was  essential  to  the 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

thing  to  be  concocted.  It  might  have  only  a 
moral  being  ;  or,  as  is  generally  the  case,  the 
moral  and  physical  truth  went  hand  in  hand. 

While  Septimius  was  busying  himself  in  this 
way,  the  summer  advanced,  and  with  it  there  ap 
peared  a  new  character,  making  her  way  into  our 
pages.  This  was  a  slender  and  pale  girl,  whom 
Septimius  was  once  startled  to  find,  when  he 
ascended  his  hilltop,  to  take  his  walk  to  and 
fro  upon  the  accustomed  path,  which  he  had 
now  worn  deep. 

What  was  stranger,  she  sat  down  close  beside 
the  grave,  which  none  but  he  and  the  minister 
knew  to  be  a  grave  ;  that  little  hillock,  which  he 
had  levelled  a  little,  and  had  planted  with  various 
flowers  and  shrubs  ;  which  the  summer  had  fos 
tered  into  richness,  the  poor  young  man  below 
having  contributed  what  he  could,  and  tried  to 
render  them  as  beautiful  as  he  might,  in  remem 
brance  of  his  own  beauty.  Septimius  wished  to 
conceal  the  fact  of  its  being  a  grave  :  not  that  he 
was  tormented  with  any  sense  that  he  had  done 
wrong  in  shooting  the  young  man,  which  had 
been  done  in  fair  battle  ;  but  still  it  was  not  the 
pleasantest  of  thoughts,  that  he  had  laid  a  beau 
tiful  human  creature,  so  fit  for  the  enjoyment  of 
life,  there,  when  his  own  dark  brow,  his  own 
troubled  breast,  might  better,  he  could  not  but 
acknowledge,  have  been  covered  up  there. 
[Perhaps  there  might  sometimes  be  something  fan- 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tastically  gay  in  the  language  and  behavior  of  the 
girl.-} 

Well  ;  but  then,  on  this  flower  and  shrub  dis 
guised  grave  sat  this  unknown  form  of  a  girl, 
with  a  slender,  pallid,  melancholy  grace  about 
her,  simply  dressed  in  a  dark  attire,  which  she 
drew  loosely  about  her.  At  first  glimpse,  Sep- 
timius  fancied  that  it  might  be  Rose ;  but  it 
needed  only  a  glance  to  undeceive  him  ;  her 
figure  was  of  another  character  from  the  vigor 
ous  though  slight  and  elastic  beauty  of  Rose  ; 
this  was  a  drooping  grace,  and  when  he  came 
near  enough  to  see  her  face,  he  saw  that  those 
large,  dark,  melancholy  eyes,  with  which  she  had 
looked  at  him,  had  never  met  his  gaze  before. 

"  Good-morrow,  fair  maiden,"  said  Septi- 
mius,  with  such  courtesy  as  he  knew  how  to  use 
(which,  to  say  truth,  was  of  a  rustic  order,  his 
way  of  life  having  brought  him  little  into  female 
society).  "  There  is  a  nice  air  here  on  the  hill 
top,  this  sultry  morning  below  the  hill !  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  continued  to  look  wonder- 
ingly  at  the  strange  maiden,  half  fancying  that 
she  might  be  something  that  had  grown  up  out 
of  the  grave  ;  so  unexpected  she  was,  so  simply 
unlike  anything  that  had  before  come  there. 

The  girl  did  not  speak  to  him,  but  as  she  sat 
by  the  grave  she  kept  weeding  out  the  little  white 
blades  of  faded  autumn  grass  and  yellow  pine 
spikes,  peering  into  the  soil  as  if  to  see  what  it 

148 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

was  all  made  of,  and  everything  that  was  grow 
ing  there  ;  and  in  truth,  whether  by  Septimius's 
care  or  no,  there  seemed  to  be  several  kinds  of 
flowers,  —  those  little  asters  that  abound  every 
where,  and  golden  flowers,  such  as  autumn  sup 
plies  with  abundance.  She  seemed  to  be  in  quest 
of  something,  and  several  times  plucked  a  leaf 
and  examined  it  carefully  ;  then  threw  it  down 
again,  and  shook  her  head.  At  last  she  lifted 
up  her  pale  face,  and,  fixing  her  eyes  quietly  on 
Septimius,  spoke  :  "  It  is  not  here  !  " 

A  very  sweet  voice  it  was,  —  plaintive,  low, 
—  and  she  spoke  to  Septimius  as  if  she  were  fa 
miliar  with  him,  and  had  something  to  do  with 
him.  He  was  greatly  interested,  not  being  able 
to  imagine  who  the  strange  girl  was,  or  whence 
she  came,  or  what,  of  all  things,  could  be  her 
reason  for  coming  and  sitting  down  by  this  grave, 
and  apparently  botanizing  upon  it,  in  quest  of 
some  particular  plant. 

"Are  you  in  search  of  flowers?  "  asked  Sep 
timius.  "  This  is  but  a  barren  spot  for  them, 
and  this  is  not  a  good  season.  In  the  meadows, 
and  along  the  margin  of  the  water  courses,  you 
might  find  the  fringed  gentian  at  this  time.  In 
the  woods  there  are  several  pretty  flowers, — 
the  side-saddle  flower,  the  anemone :  violets  are 
plentiful  in  spring,  and  make  the  whole  hillside 
blue.  But  this  hilltop,  with  its  soil  strewn  over 
a  heap  of  pebblestones,  is  no  place  for  flowers." 
149 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  The  soil  is  fit,"  said  the  maiden,  "  but  the 
flower  has  not  sprung  up." 

"  What  flower  do  you  speak  of?  "  asked  Sep- 
timius. 

"  One  that  is  not  here,"  said  the  pale  girl. 
"  No  matter.  I  will  look  for  it  again  next  spring." 

"  Do  you,  then,  dwell  hereabout  ?  "  inquired 
Septimius. 

"  Surely,"  said  the  maiden,  with  a  look  of  sur 
prise  ;  "  where  else  should  I  dwell  ?  My  home 
is  on  this  hilltop." 

It  not  a  little  startled  Septimius,  as  may  be 
supposed,  to  find  his  paternal  inheritance,  of 
which  he  and  his  forefathers  had  been  the  only 
owners  since  the  world  began  (for  they  held  it 
by  an  Indian  deed),  claimed  as  a  home  and 
abiding  place  by  this  fair,  pale,  strange-acting 
maiden,  who  spoke  as  if  she  had  as  much  right 
there  as  if  she  had  grown  up  out  of  the  soil  like 
one  of  the  wild,  indigenous  flowers  which  she 
had  been  gazing  at  and  handling.  However 
that  might  be,  the  maiden  seemed  now  about  to 
depart,  rising,  giving  a  farewell  touch  or  two  to 
the  little  verdant  hillock,  which  looked  much 
the  neater  for  her  ministrations. 

"Are  you  going?"  said  Septimius,  looking 
at  her  in  wonder. 

"  For  a  time,"  said  she. 

"  And  shall  I  see  you  again  ? "  asked  he. 


150 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  Surely,"  said  the  maiden,  "  this  is  my  walk, 
along  the  brow  of  the  hill." 

It  again  smote  Septimius  with  a  strange  thrill 
of  surprise  to  find  the  walk  which  he  himself 
had  made,  treading  it,  and  smoothing  it,  and 
beating  it  down  with  the  pressure  of  his  contin 
ual  feet,  from  the  time  when  the  tufted  grass 
made  the  sides  all  uneven,  until  now,  when  it 
was  such  a  pathway  as  you  may  see  through  a 
wood  or  over  a  field,  where  many  feet  pass  every 
day,  —  to  find  this  track  and  exemplification  of 
his  own  secret  thoughts  and  plans  and  emotions, 
this  writing  of  his  body,  impelled  by  the  strug 
gle  and  movement  of  his  soul,  claimed  as  her 
own  by  a  strange  girl  with  melancholy  eyes  and 
voice,  who  seemed  to  have  such  a  sad  familiar 
ity  with  him. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  come  here,"  said  he, 
endeavoring  at  least  to  keep  such  hold  on  his 
own  property  as  was  implied  in  making  a  hos 
pitable  surrender  of  it  to  another. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "  a  person  should  always 
be  welcome  to  his  own." 

A  faint  smile  seemed  to  pass  over  her  face  as 
she  said  this,  vanishing,  however,  immediately 
into  the  melancholy  of  her  usual  expression. 
She  went  along  Septimius's  path,  while  he  stood 
gazing  at  her  till  she  reached  the  brow  where  it 
sloped  towards  Robert  Hagburn's  house;  then 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

she  turned,  and  seemed  to  wave  a  slight  farewell 
towards  the  young  man,  and  began  to  descend. 
When  her  figure  had  entirely  sunk  behind  the 
brpw  of  the  hill,  Septimius  slowly  followed  along 
the  ridge,  meaning  to  watch  from  that  elevated 
station  the  course  she  would  take  ;  although,  in 
deed,  he  would  not  have  been  surprised  if  he 
had  seen  nothing,  no  trace  of  her  in  the  whole 
nearness  or  distance  ;  in  short,  if  she  had  been 
a  freak,  an  illusion,  of  a  hard-working  mind  that 
had  put  itself  ajar  by  deeply  brooding  on  abstruse 
matters,  an  illusion  of  eyes  that  he  had  tried  too 
much  by  poring  over  the  inscrutable  manuscript, 
and  of  intellect  that  was  mystified  and  bewildered 
by  trying  to  grasp  things  that  could  not  be 
grasped.  A  thing  of  witchcraft,  a  sort  of  fun 
gus  growth  out  of  the  grave,  an  unsubstantiality 
altogether ;  although,  certainly,  she  had  weeded 
the  grave  with  bodily  fingers,  at  all  events.  Still 
he  had  so  much  of  the  hereditary  mysticism  of 
his  race  in  him,  that  he  might  have  held  her 
supernatural,  only  that  on  reaching  the  brow  of 
the  hill  he  saw  her  feet  approach  the  dwelling 
of  Robert  Hagburn's  mother,  who,  moreover, 
appeared  at  the  threshold  beckoning  her  to  come, 
with  a  motherly,  hospitable  air,  that  denoted  she 
knew  the  strange  girl,  and  recognized  her  as 
human. 

It  did  not  lessen  Septimius's  surprise,  how 
ever,  to  think  that  such  a  singular  being  was  es- 

152 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tablished  in  the  neighborhood  without  his  know 
ledge  ;  considered  as  a  real  occurrence  of  this 
world,  it  seemed  even  more  unaccountable  than 
if  it  had  been  a  thing  of  ghostology  and  witch 
craft.  Continually  through  the  day  the  incident 
kept  introducing  its  recollection  among  his 
thoughts  and  studies ;  continually,  as  he  paced 
along  his  path,  this  form  seemed  to  hurry  along 
by  his  side  on  the  track  that  she  had  claimed  for 
her  own,  and  he  thought  of  her  singular  threat 
or  promise,  whichever  it  were  to  be  held,  that 
he  should  have  a  companion  there  in  future.  In 
the  decline  of  the  day,  when  he  met  the  school 
mistress  coming  home  from  her  little  seminary, 
he  snatched  the  first  opportunity  to  mention  the 
apparition  of  the  morning,  and  ask  Rose  if  she 
knew  anything  of  her. 

"Very  little,"  said  Rose;  "but  she  is  flesh  and 
blood,  —  of  that  you  ma>r  be  quite  sure.  She 
is  a  girl  who  has  been  shut  up  in  Boston  by  the 
siege  ;  perhaps  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  British 
officers,  and  her  health  being  frail,  she  requires 
better  air  than  they  have  there,  and  so  permis 
sion  was  got  for  her,  from  General  Washington, 
to  come  and  live  in  the  country  ;  as  any  one 
may  see,  our  liberties  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
this  poor  brain-stricken  girl.  And  Robert  Hag- 
burn,  having  to  bring  a  message  from  camp  to 
the  selectmen  here,  had  it  in  charge  to  bring  the 
girl,  whom  his  mother  has  taken  to  board." 
153 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  Then  the  poor  thing  is  crazy  ?  "  asked  Sep- 
timius. 

"A  little  brain-touched,  that  is  all,"  replied 
Rose,  "  owing  to  some  grief  that  she  has  had ; 
but  she  is  quite  harmless,  Robert  was  told  to 
say,  and  needs  little  or  no  watching,  and  will  get 
a  kind  of  fantastic  happiness  for  herself,  if  only 
she  is  allowed  to  ramble  about  at  her  pleasure. 
If  thwarted,  she  might  be  very  wild  and  miser 
able." 

"  Have  you  spoken  with  her  ?  "  asked  Septi- 
mius. 

"  A  word  or  two  this  morning,  as  I  was  go 
ing  to  my  school,"  said  Rose.  "  She  took  me 
by  the  hand,  and  smiled,  and  said  we  would  be 
friends,  and  that  I  should  show  her  where  the 
flowers  grew  ;  for  that  she  had  a  little  spot  of 
her  own  that  she  wanted  to  plant  with  them. 
And  she  asked  me  if  the  Sanguinea  sanguinissima 
grew  hereabout.  I  should  not  have  taken  her 
to  be  ailing  in  her  wits,  only  for  a  kind  of  free- 
spokenness  and  familiarity,  as  if  we  had  been 
acquainted  a  long  while ;  or  as  if  she  had  lived 
in  some  country  where  there  are  no  forms  and 
impediments  in  people's  getting  acquainted." 

"  Did  you  like  her?  "  inquired  Septimius. 

"  Yes ;  almost  loved  her  at  first  sight,"  an 
swered  Rose,  "  and  I  hope  may  do  her  some 
little  good,  poor  thing,  being  of  her  own  age, 
and  the  only  companion,  hereabouts,  whom  she 

154 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

is  likely  to  find.  But  she  has  been  well  edu 
cated,  and  is  a  lady,  that  is  easy  to  see." 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Septimius,  "  but  I 
fear  I  shall  be  a  good  deal  interrupted  in  my 
thoughts  and  studies,  if  she  insists  on  haunting 
my  hilltop  as  much  as  she  tells  me.  My  med 
itations  are  perhaps  of  a  little  too  much  impor 
tance  to  be  shoved  aside  for  the  sake  of  gratify 
ing  a  crazy  girl's  fantasies." 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  hard  thing  to  say  !  "  exclaimed 
Rose,  shocked  at  her  lover's  cold  egotism,  though 
not  giving  it  that  title.  "  Let  the  poor  thing 
glide  quietly  along  in  the  path,  though  it  be 
yours.  Perhaps,  after  a  while,  she  will  help  your 
thoughts." 

"  My  thoughts,"  said  Septimius,  "  are  of  a 
kind  that  can  have  no  help  from  any  one  ;  if 
from  any,  it  would  only  be  from  some  wise,  long- 
studied,  and  experienced  scientific  man,  who 
could  enlighten  me  as  to  the  bases  and  founda 
tion  of  things,  as  to  mystic  writings,  as  to  chem 
ical  elements,  as  to  the  mysteries  of  language,  as 
to  the  principles  and  system  on  which  we  were 
created.  Methinks  these  are  not  to  be  taught 
me  by  a  girl  touched  in  the  wits." 

"  I  fear,"  replied  Rose  Garfield  with  gravity, 
and  drawing  imperceptibly  apart  from  him, "  that 
no  woman  can  help  you  much.  You  despise 
woman's  thought,  and  have  no  need  of  her  af 
fection." 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Septimius  said  something  soft  and  sweet,  and 
in  a  measure  true,  in  regard  to  the  necessity  he 
felt  for  the  affection  and  sympathy  of  one  wo 
man  at  least  —  the  one  now  by  his  side  —  to 
keep  his  life  warm  and  to  make  the  empty  cham 
bers  of  his  heart  comfortable.  But  even  while 
he  spoke,  there  was  something  that  dragged  upon 
his  tongue ;  for  he  felt  that  the  solitary  pursuit 
in  which  he  was  engaged  carried  him  apart  from 
the  sympathy  of  which  he  spoke,  and  that  he 
was  concentrating  his  efforts  and  interest  entirely 
upon  himself,  and  that  the  more  he  succeeded 
the  more  remotely  he  should  be  carried  away, 
and  that  his  final  triumph  would  be  the  com 
plete  seclusion  of  himself  from  all  that  breathed, 
—  the  converting  him,  from  an  interested  actor 
into  a  cold  and  disconnected  spectator  of  all  man 
kind's  warm  and  sympathetic  life.  So,  as  it 
turned  out,  this  interview  with  Rose  was  one 
of  those  in  which,  coming  no  one  knows  from 
whence,  a  nameless  cloud  springs  up  between  two 
lovers,  and  keeps  them  apart  from  one  another 
by  a  cold,  sullen  spell.  Usually,  however,  it 
requires  only  one  word,  spoken  out  of  the  heart, 
to  break  that  spell,  and  compel  the  invisible, 
unsympathetic  medium  which  the  enemy  of  love 
has  stretched  cunningly  between  them  to  van 
ish,  and  let  them  come  closer  together  than  ever ; 
but,  in  this  case,  it  might  be  that  the  love  was 
the  illusive  state,  and  the  estrangement  the  rea.1 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

truth,  the  disenchanted  verity.  At  all  events, 
when  the  feeling  passed  away,  in  Rose's  heart 
there  was  no  reaction,  no  warmer  love,  as  is  gen 
erally  the  case.  As  for  Septimius,  he  had  other 
things  to  think  about,  and  when  he  next  met 
Rose  Garfield  had  forgotten  that  he  had  been 
sensible  of  a  little  wounded  feeling,  on  her  part, 
at  parting. 

By  dint  of  continued  poring  over  the  manu 
script,  Septimius  now  began  to  comprehend  that 
it  was  written  in  a  singular  mixture  of  Latin  and 
ancient  English,  with  constantly  recurring  para 
graphs  of  what  he  was  convinced  was  a  mystic 
writing ;  and  these  recurring  passages  of  com 
plete  unintelligibility  seemed  to  be  necessary 
to  the  proper  understanding  of  any  part  of  the 
document.  What  was  discoverable  was  quaint, 
curious,  but  thwarting  and  perplexing,  because 
it  seemed  to  imply  some  very  great  purpose, 
only  to  be  brought  out  by  what  was  hidden. 

Septimius  had  read,  in  the  old  college  library, 
during  his  pupilage,  a  work  on  ciphers  and  cryp 
tic  writing,  but  being  drawn  to  it  only  by  his 
curiosity  respecting  whatever  was  hidden,  and 
not  expecting  ever  to  use  his  knowledge,  he 
had  obtained  only  the  barest  idea  of  what  was 
necessary  to  the  deciphering  a  secret  passage. 
Judging  by  what  he  could  pick  out,  he  would 
have  thought  the  whole  essay  was  upon  the 
moral  conduct ;  all  parts  of  that  he  could  make 
'57 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

out  seeming  to  refer  to  a  certain  ascetic  rule  of 
life,  to  denial  of  pleasures  ;  these  topics  being 
repeated  and  insisted  on  everywhere,  although 
without  any  discoverable  reference  to  religious 
or  moral  motives  ;  and  always  when  the  author 
seemed  verging  towards  a  definite  purpose,  he 
took  refuge  in  his  cipher.  Yet  withal,  imper 
fectly  (or  not  at  all,  rather)  as  Septimius  could 
comprehend  its  purport,  this  strange  writing  had 
a  mystic  influence,  that  wrought  upon  his  ima 
gination,  and  with  the  late  singular  incidents  of 
his  life,  his  continual  thought  on  this  one  sub 
ject,  his  walk  on  the  hilltop,  lonely,  or  only  in 
terrupted  by  the  pale  shadow  of  a  girl,  combined 
to  set  him  outside  of  the  living  world.  Rose 
Garfield  perceived  it,  knew  and  felt  that  he  was 
gliding  away  from  her,  and  met  him  with  a  re 
serve  which  she  could  not  overcome. 

It  was  a  pity  that  his  early  friend,  Robert 
Hagburn,  could  not  at  present  have  any  influ 
ence  over  him,  having  now  regularly  joined  the 
Continental  Army,  and  being  engaged  in  the 
expedition  of  Arnold  against  Quebec.  Indeed, 
this  war,  in  which  the  country  was  so  earnestly 
and  enthusiastically  engaged,  had  perhaps  an  in 
fluence  on  Septimius's  state  of  mind,  for  it  put 
everybody  into  an  exaggerated  and  unnatural 
state,  united  enthusiasms  of  all  sorts,  heightened 
everybody  either  into  its  own  heroism  or  into 
the  peculiar  madness  to  which  each  person  was 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

inclined  ;  and  Septimius  walked  so  much  the 
more  wildly  on  his  lonely  course,  because  the 
people  were  going  enthusiastically  on  another. 
In  times  of  revolution  and  public  disturbance 
all  absurdities  are  more  unrestrained ;  the  mea 
sure  of  calm  sense,  the  habits,  the  orderly  de 
cency,  are  partially  lost.  More  people  become 
insane,  I  should  suppose  ;  offences  against  pub 
lic  morality,  female  license,  are  more  numerous ; 
suicides,  murders,  all  ungovernable  outbreaks 
of  men's  thoughts,  embodying  themselves  in 
wild  acts,  take  place  more  frequently,  and  with 
less  horror  to  the  lookers-on.  So  [with]  Sep 
timius  ;  there  was  not,  as  there  would  have  been 
at  an  ordinary  time,  the  same  calmness  and 
truth  in  the  public  observation,  scrutinizing 
everything  with  its  keen  criticism,  in  that  time 
of  seething  opinions  and  overturned  principles  ; 
a  new  time  was  coming,  and  Septimius's  phase 
of  novelty  attracted  less  attention  so  far  as  it 
was  known. 

So  he  continued  to  brood  over  the  manuscript 
in  his  study,  and  to  hide  it  under  lock  and  key 
in  a  recess  of  the  wall,  as  if  it  were  a  secret  of 
murder  ;  to  walk,  too,  on  his  hilltop,  where  at 
sunset  always  came  the  pale,  crazy  maiden,  who 
still  seemed  to  watch  the  little  hillock  with  a 
pertinacious  care  that  was  strange  to  Septimius. 
By  and  by  came  the  winter  and  the  deep  snows  ; 
and  even  then,  unwilling  to  give  up  his  habitual 
159 


SILPTIMIUS  FELTON 

place  of  exercise,  the  monotonousness  of  which 
promoted  his  wish  to  keep  before  his  mind 
one  subject  of  thought,  Septimius  wore  a  path 
through  the  snow,  and  still  walked  there.  Here, 
however,  he  lost  for  a  time  the  companionship 
of  the  girl  ;  for  when  the  first  snow  came,  she 
shivered,  and  looked  at  its  white  heap  over  the 
hillock,  and  said  to  Septimius,  "  I  will  look  for 
it  again  in  the  spring." 

[Septimius  is  at  the  -point  of  despair  for  want 
of  a  guide  in  his  studies  J\ 

The  winter  swept  over,  and  spring  was  just 
beginning  to  spread  its  green  flush  over  the 
more  favored  exposures  of  the  landscape,  al 
though  on  the  north  side  of  stone  walls,  and 
the  northern  nooks  of  hills,  there  were  still  the 
remnants  of  snowdrifts.  Septimius's  hilltop, 
which  was  of  a  soil  which  quickly  rid  itself  of 
moisture,  now  began  to  be  a  genial  place  of 
resort  to  him,  and  he  was  one  morning  taking 
his  walk  there,  meditating  upon  the  still  insur 
mountable  difficulties  wh?ch  interposed  them 
selves  against  the  interpretation  of  the  manu 
script,  yet  feeling  the  new  gush  of  spring  bring 
hope  to  him,  and  the  energy  and  elasticity  for 
new  effort.  Thus  pacing  to  and  fro,  he  was  sur 
prised,  as  he  turned  at  the  extremity  of  his  walk, 
to  see  a  figure  advancing  towards  him  ;  not  that 
of  the  pale  maiden  whom  he  was  accustomed  to 
see  there,  but  a  figure  as  widely  different  as  pos- 
1 60 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

sible.  \He  sees  a  spider  dangling  from  his 
and  examines  him  minutely  I\  It  was  that  of  a 
short,  broad,  somewhat  elderly  man,  dressed  in 
a  surtout  that  had  a  half-military  air;  the  cocked 
hat  of  the  period,  well  worn,  and  having  a  fresher 
spot  in  it,  whence,  perhaps,  a  cockade  had  been 
recently  taken  off;  and  this  personage  carried 
a  well-blackened  German  pipe  in  his  hand, 
which,  as  he  walked,  he  applied  to  his  lips,  and 
puffed  out  volumes  of  smoke,  filling  the  plea 
sant  western  breeze  with  the  fragrance  of  some 
excellent  Virginia.  He  came  slowly  along,  and 
Septimius,  slackening  his  pace  a  little,  came  as 
slowly  to  meet  him,  feeling  somewhat  indignant, 
to  be  sure,  that  anybody  should  intrude  on  his 
sacred  hill  ;  until  at  last  they  met,  as  it  hap 
pened,  close  by  the  memorable  little  hillock, 
on  which  the  grass  and  flower  leaves  also  had 
begun  to  sprout.  The  stranger  looked  keenly 
at  Septimius,  made  a  careless  salute  by  put 
ting  his  hand  up,  and  took  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth. 

"  Mr.  Septimius  Felton,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  he. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  replied  Septimius. 

"  I  am  Doctor  Jabez  Portsoaken,"  said  the 
stranger,  "late  surgeon  of  his  Majesty's  six 
teenth  regiment,  which  I  quitted  when  his  Ma 
jesty's  army  quitted  Boston,  being  desirous  of 
trying  my  fortunes  in  your  country,  and  giving 
the  people  the  benefit  of  my  scientific  know- 
161 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ledge  ;  also  to  practise  some  new  modes  of  med 
ical  science,  which  I  could  not  so  well  do  in  the 
army." 

"  I  think  you  are  quite  right,  Doctor  Jabez 
Portsoaken,"  said  Septimius,  a  little  confused 
and  bewildered,  so  unused  had  he  become  to  the 
society  of  strangers. 

"  And  as  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  doctor,  who 
had  a  very  rough,  abrupt  way  of  speaking,  "  I 
have  to  thank  you  for  a  favor  done  me." 

"  Have  you,  sir  ? "  said  Septimius,  who  was 
quite  sure  that  he  had  never  seen  the  doctor's 
uncouth  figure  before. 

"  O,  ay,  me,"  said  the  doctor,  puffing  coolly, 
—  "me,  in  the  person  of  my  niece,  a  sickly, 
poor,  nervous  little  thing,  who  is  very  fond  of 
walking  on  your  hilltop,  and  whom  you  do  not 
send  away." 

"  You  are  the  uncle  of  Sibyl  Dacy  ? "  said 
Septimius. 

"  Even  so,  her  mother's  brother,"  said  the 
doctor,  with  a  grotesque  bow.  "  So,  being  on 
a  visit,  the  first  that  the  siege  allowed  me  to  pay, 
to  see  how  the  girl  was  getting  on,  I  take  the 
opportunity  to  pay  my  respects  to  you ;  the 
more  that  I  understand  you  to  be  a  young  man 
of  some  learning,  and  it  is  not  often  that  one 
meets  with  such  in  this  country." 

cc  No,"  said  Septimius  abruptly,  for  indeed 
he  had  half  a  suspicion  that  this  queer  Doctor 
162 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Portsoaken  was  not  altogether  sincere,  —  that, 
in  short,  he  was  making  game  of  him.  "  You 
have  been  misinformed.  I  know  nothing  what 
ever  that  is  worth  knowing." 

"  Oho  !  "  said  the  doctor,  with  a  long  puff  of 
smoke  out  of  his  pipe.  "  If  you  are  convinced 
of  that,  you  are  one  of  the  wisest  men  I  have 
met  with,  young  as  you  are.  I  must  have  been 
twice  your  age  before  I  got  so  far;  and  even 
now,  I  am  sometimes  fool  enough  to  doubt  the 
only  thing  I  was  ever  sure  of  knowing.  But 
come,  you  make  me  only  the  more  earnest  to 
collogue  with  you.  If  we  put  both  our  short 
comings  together,  they  may  make  up  an  item  of 
positive  knowledge." 

"  What  use  can  one  make  of  abortive 
thoughts  r  "  said  Septimius. 

"  Do  your  speculations  take  a  scientific  turn  ?  " 
said  Doctor  Portsoaken.  "  There  I  can  meet 
you  with  as  much  false  knowledge  and  empiri 
cism  as  you  can  bring  for  the  life  of  you.  Have 
you  ever  tried  to  study  spiders?  —  there  is  my 
strong  point  now  !  I  have  hung  my  whole  in 
terest  in  life  on  a  spider's  web." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  them,  sir,"  said  Septi 
mius,  "  except  to  crush  them  when  I  see  them 
running  across  the  floor,  or  to  brush  away  the 
festoons  of  their  webs  when  they  have  chanced 
to  escape  my  Aunt  Keziah's  broom." 

"  Crush   them  !     Brush  away   their  webs  ! " 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

cried  the  doctor,  apparently  in  a  rage,  and  shak 
ing  his  pipe  at  Septimius.  "  Sir,  it  is  sacrilege  ! 
Yes,  it  is  worse  than  murder.  Every  thread  of 
a  spider's  web  is  worth  more  than  a  thread  of 
gold  ;  and  before  twenty  years  are  passed,  a 
housemaid  will  be  beaten  to  death  with  her  own 
broomstick  if  she  disturbs  one  of  these  sacred 
animals.  But,  come  again.  Shall  we  talk  of 
botany,  the  virtues  of  herbs  ?  " 

"  My  Aunt  Keziah  should  meet  you  there, 
doctor,"  said  Septimius.  "  She  has  a  native  and 
original  acquaintance  with  their  virtues,  and  can 
save  and  kill  with  any  of  the  faculty.  As  for 
myself,  my  studies  have  not  turned  that  way." 

"  They  ought !  they  ought !  "  said  the  doctor, 
looking  meaningly  at  him.  "  The  whole  thing 
lies  in  the  blossom  of  an  herb.  Now,  you  ought 
to  begin  with  what  lies  about  you  ;  on  this  little 
hillock,  for  instance  ;  "  and  looking  at  the  grave 
beside  which  they  were  standing,  he  gave  it  a 
kick  which  went  to  Septimius's  heart,  there 
seemed  to  be  such  a  spite  and  scorn  in  it.  "  On 
this  hillock  I  see  some  specimens  of  plants  which 
would  be  worth  your  looking  at." 

Bending  down  towards  the  grave  as  he  spoke, 
he  seemed  to  give  closer  attention  to  what  he 
saw  there  ;  keeping  in  his  stooping  position  till 
his  face  began  to  get  a  purple  aspect,  for  the 
erudite  doctor  was  of  that  make  of  man  who  has 
to  be  kept  right  side  uppermost  with  care.  At 
164 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

length  he  raised  himself,  muttering,  "  Very  cu 
rious  !  very  curious  !  " 

"  Do  you  see  anything  remarkable  there  ?  " 
asked  Septimius,  with  some  interest. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor  bluntly.  "  No  mat 
ter  what !  The  time  will  come  when  you  may 
like  to  know  it." 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  to  my  residence  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  Doctor  Portsoaken  ?  "  asked 
Septimius.  "  I  am  not  a  learned  man,  and  have 
little  or  no  title  to  converse  with  one,  except  a 
sincere  desire  to  be  wiser  than  I  am.  If  you  can 
be  moved  on  such  terms  to  give  me  your  com 
panionship,  I  shall  be  thankful." 

"  Sir,  I  am  with  you,"  said  Doctor  Port 
soaken.  "  I  will  tell  you  what  I  know,  in  the 
sure  belief  (for  I  will  be  frank  with  you)  that  it 
will  add  to  the  amount  of  dangerous  folly  now 
in  your  mind,  and  help  you  on  the  way  to  ruin. 
Take  your  choice,  therefore,  whether  to  know 
me  further  or  not." 

"I  neither  shrink  nor  fear,  —  neither  hope 
much,"  said  Septimius  quietly.  "  Anything 
that  you  can  communicate  —  if  any  thing  you  can 
—  I  shall  fearlessly  receive,  and  return  you  such 
thanks  as  it  may  be  found  to  deserve." 

So  saying,  he  led  the  way  down  the  hill,  by  the 
steep  path  that  descended  abruptly  upon  the  rear 
of  his  bare  and  unadorned  little  dwelling;  the 
doctor  following  with  much  foul  language  (for 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

he  had  a  terrible  habit  of  swearing)  at  the  diffi 
culties  of  the  way,  to  which  his  short  legs  were 
ill  adapted.  Aunt  Keziah  met  them  at  the  door, 
and  looked  sharply  at  the  doctor,  who  returned 
the  gaze  with  at  least  as  much  keenness,  mutter 
ing  between  his  teeth  as  he  did  so ;  and  to  say 
the  truth,  Aunt  Keziah  was  as  worthy  of  being 
sworn  at  as  any  woman  could  well  be,  for  what 
ever  she  might  have  been  in  her  younger  days, 
she  was  at  this  time  as  strange  a  mixture  of  an 
Indian  squaw  and  herb  doctress,  with  the  crabbed 
old  maid,  and  a  mingling  of  the  witch  aspect 
running  through  all,  as  could  well  be  imagined ; 
and  she  had  a  handkerchief  over  her  head,  and 
she  was  of  hue  a  dusky  yellow,  and  she  looked 
very  cross.  As  Septimius  ushered  the  doctor 
into  his  study,  and  was  about  to  follow  him, 
Aunt  Keziah  drew  him  back. 

"  Septimius,  who  is  this  you  have  brought 
here  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  A  man  I  have  met  on  the  hill,"  answered 
her  nephew ;  "  a  Doctor  Portsoaken  he  calls 
himself,  from  the  old  country.  He  says  he  has 
knowledge  of  herbs  and  other  mysteries ;  in 
your  own  line,  it  may  be.  If  you  want  to  talk 
with  him,  give  the  man  his  dinner,  and  find 
out  what  there  is  in  him." 

"  And  what  do  you  want  of  him  yourself, 
Septimius  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  I  ?  Nothing  !  —  that  is  to  say,  I  expect 
166 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

nothing/'  said  Septimius.  "  But  I  am  astray, 
seeking  everywhere,  and  so  I  reject  no  hint,  no 
promise,  no  faintest  possibility  of  aid  that  I 
may  find  anywhere.  I  judge  this  man  to  be  a 
quack,  but  I  judge  the  same  of  the  most  learned 
man  of  his  profession,  or  any  other ;  and  there 
is  a  roughness  about  this  man  that  may  indicate 
a  little  more  knowledge  than  if  he  were  smoother. 
So,  as  he  threw  himself  in  my  way,  I  take  him 
in." 

"  A  grim,  ugly-looking  old  wretch  as  ever  I 
saw,"  muttered  Aunt  Keziah.  "  Well,  he  shall 
have  his  dinner ;  and  if  he  likes  to  talk  about 
yarb-dishes,  I  'm  with  him." 

So  Septimius  followed  the  doctor  into  his 
study,  where  he  found  him  with  the  sword  in 
his  hand,  which  he  had  taken  from  over  the 
mantelpiece,  and  was  holding  it  drawn,  exam 
ining  the  hilt  and  blade  with  great  minuteness; 
the  hilt  being  wrought  in  openwork,  with  cer 
tain  heraldic  devices,  doubtless  belonging  to  the 
family  of  its  former  wearer. 

"  I  have  seen  this  weapon  before,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  It  may  well  be,"  said  Septimius.  "  It  was 
once  worn  by  a  person  who  served  in  the  army 
of  your  king." 

"  And  you  took  it  from  him  ? "  said  the 
doctor. 

"  If  I   did,  it  was  in  no  way  that  I  need  be 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ashamed  of,  or  afraid  to  tell,  though  I  choose 
rather  not  to  speak  of  it,"  answered  Septimius. 

"  Have  you,  then,  no  desire  nor  interest  to 
know  the  family,  the  personal  history,  the  pro 
spects,  of  him  who  once  wore  this  sword,  and 
who  will  never  draw  sword  again  ?  "  inquired 
Doctor  Portsoaken.  "Poor  Cyril  Norton! 
There  was  a  singular  story  attached  to  that 
young  man,  sir,  and  a  singular  mystery  he  car 
ried  about  with  him,  the  end  of  which,  perhaps, 
is  not  yet." 

Septimius  would  have  been,  indeed,  well 
enough  pleased  to  learn  the  mystery  which  he 
himself  had  seen  that  there  was  about  the  man 
whom  he  slew  ;  but  he  was  afraid  that  some  ques 
tion  might  be  thereby  started  about  the  secret 
document  that  he  had  kept  possession  of;  and 
he  therefore  would  have  wished  to  avoid  the 
whole  subject. 

"  I  cannot  be  supposed  to  take  much  inter 
est  in  English  family  history.  It  is  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years,  at  least,  since  my  own  family 
ceased  to  be  English,"  he  answered.  "  I  care 
more  for  the  present  and  future  than  for  the 
past." 

"  It  is  all  one,"  said  the  doctor,  sitting  down, 
taking  out  a  pinch  of  tobacco  and  refilling  his 
pipe. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  follow  up  the  description 
of  the  visit  of  the  eccentric  doctor  through  the 
168 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

day.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  there  was  a  sort  of 
charm,  or  rather  fascination,  about  the  uncouth 
old  fellow,  in  spite  of  his  strange  ways  ;  in  spite 
of  his  constant  puffing  of  tobacco  ;  and  in  spite, 
too,  of  a  constant  imbibing  of  strong  liquor, 
vhich  he  made  inquiries  for,  and  of  which  the 
best  that  could  be  produced  was  a  certain  de 
coction,  infusion,  or  distillation,  pertaining  to 
Aunt  Keziah,  and  of  which  the  basis  was  rum, 
be  it  said,  done  up  with  certain  bitter  herbs  of 
the  old  lady's  own  gathering,  at  proper  times 
of  the  moon,  and  which  was  a  well-known  drink 
to  all  who  were  favored  with  Aunt  Keziah 's 
friendship  ;  though  there  was  a  story  that  it  was 
the  very  drink  which  used  to  be  passed  round 
at  witch  meetings,  being  brewed  from  the  Dev 
il's  own  recipe.  And,  in  truth,  judging  from 
the  taste  (for  I  once  took  a  sip  of  a  draught 
prepared  from  the  same  ingredients  and  in  the 
same  way),  I  should  think  this  hellish  origin 
might  be  the  veritable  one. 

["  /  thought"  quoth  the  doctor,  "  /  could  drink 
anything,  but  "  — ] 

But  the  valiant  doctor  sipped,  and  sipped 
again,  and  said  with  great  blasphemy  that  it 
was  the  real  stuff,  and  only  needed  henbane  to 
make  it  perfect.  Then,  taking  from  his  pocket 
a  good-sized  leathern-covered  flask,  with  a  sil 
ver  lip  fastened  on  the  muzzle,  he  offered  it  to 
Septimius,  who  declined,  and  to  Aunt  Keziah, 
169 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

who  preferred  her  own  decoction,  and  then 
drank  it  off  himself,  with  a  loud  smack  of  sat 
isfaction,  declaring  it  to  be  infernally  good 
brandy. 

Well,  after  this  Septimius  and  he  talked ; 
and  I  know  not  how  it  was,  but  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  imagination  in  this  queer  man, 
whether  a  bodily  or  spiritual  influence  it  might 
be  hard  to  say.  On  the  other  hand,  Septimius 
had  for  a  long  while  held  little  intercourse  with 
men,  none  whatever  with  men  who  could  com 
prehend  him  ;  the  doctor,  too,  seemed  to  bring 
the  discourse  singularly  in  apposition  with  what 
his  host  was  continually  thinking  about,  for  he 
conversed  on  occult  matters,  on  people  who 
had  had  the  art  of  living  long,  and  had  only 
died  at  last  by  accident,  on  the  powers  and 
qualities  of  common  herbs,  which  he  believed 
to  be  so  great,  that  all  around  our  feet  —  grow 
ing  in  the  wild  forest,  afar  from  man,  or  follow 
ing  the  footsteps  of  man  wherever  he  fixes  his 
residence,  across  seas,  from  the  old  homesteads 
whence  he  migrated,  following  him  everywhere, 
and  offering  themselves  sedulously  and  contin 
ually  to  his  notice,  while  he  only  plucks  them 
away  from  the  comparatively  worthless  things 
which  he  cultivates,  and  flings  them  aside,  blas 
pheming  at  them  because  Providence  has  sown 
them  so  thickly  —  grow  what  we  call  weeds, 
only  because  all  the  generations,  from  the  be- 
170 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ginning  of  time  till  now,  have  failed  to  discover 
their  wondrous  virtues,  potent  for  the  curing 
of  all  diseases,  potent  for  procuring  length  of 
days. 

"  Everything  good,"  said  the  doctor,  drink 
ing  another  dram  of  brandy,  "  lies  right  at  our 
feet,  and  all  we  need  is  to  gather  it  up." 

"  That 's  true,"  quoth  Keziah,  taking  just  a 
little  sup  of  her  hellish  preparation ;  "  these 
herbs  were  all  gathered  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  this  very  spot,  though  it  took  a  wise  woman 
to  find  out  their  virtues." 

The  old  woman  went  off  about  her  house 
hold  duties,  and  then  it  was  that  Septimius 
submitted  to  the  doctor  the  list  of  herbs  which 
he  had  picked  out  of  the  old  document,  asking 
him,  as  something  apposite  to  the  subject  of 
their  discourse,  whether  he  was  acquainted  with 
them,  for  most  of  them  had  very  queer  names, 
some  in  Latin,  some  in  English. 

The  bluff  doctor  put  on  his  spectacles,  and 
looked  over  the  slip  of  yellow  and  worn  paper 
scrutinizingly,  puffing  tobacco  smoke  upon  it  in 
great  volumes,  as  if  thereby  to  make  its  hidden 
purport  come  out ;  he  mumbled  to  himself,  he 
took  another  sip  from  his  flask  ;  and  then,  put 
ting  it  down  on  the  table,  appeared  to  meditate. 

"  This  infernal  old  document,"  said  he,  at 
length,  "  is  one  that  I  have  never  seen  before, 
yet  heard  of,  nevertheless  ;  for  it  was  my  folly 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

in  youth  (and  whether  I  am  any  wiser  now  k 
more  than  I  take  upon  me  to  say,  but  it  was  my 
folly  then)  to  be  in  quest  of  certain  kinds  of 
secret  knowledge,  which  the  fathers  of  science 
thought  attainable.  Now,  in  several  quarters, 
amongst  people  with  whom  my  pursuits  brought 
me  in  contact,  I  heard  of  a  certain  recipe  which 
had  been  lost  for  a  generation  or  two,  but  which, 
if  it  could  be  recovered,would  prove  to  have  the 
true  life-giving  potency  in  it.  It  is  said  that  the 
ancestor  of  a  great  old  family  in  England  was  in 
possession  of  this  secret,  being  a  man  of  science, 
and  the  friend  of  Friar  Bacon,  who  was  said  to 
have  concocted  it  himself,  partly  from  the  pre 
cepts  of  his  master,  partly  from  his  own  exper 
iments,  and  it  is  thought  he  might  have  been 
living  to  this  day,  if  he  had  not  unluckily  been 
killed  in  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  ;  for  you  know 
no  recipe  for  long  life  would  be  proof  against  an 
old  English  arrow,  or  a  leaden  bullet  from  one 
of  our  own  firelocks." 

"  And  what  has  been  the  history  of  the  thing 
after  his  death  ?  "  asked  Septimius. 

"  It  was  supposed  to  be  preserved  in  the  fam 
ily,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  it  has  always  been 
said,  that  the  head  and  eldest  son  of  that  family 
had  it  at  his  option  to  live  forever,  if  he  could 
only  make  up  his  mind  to  it.  But  seemingly 
there  were  difficulties  in  the  way.  There  was 
probably  a  certain  diet  and  regimen  to  be  ob- 
172 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

served,  certain  strict  rules  of  life  to  be  kept,  a 
certain  asceticism  to  be  imposed  on  the  person, 
which  was  not  quite  agreeable  to  young  men  ; 
and  after  the  period  of  youth  was  passed,  the 
human  frame'became  incapable  of  being  regen 
erated  from  the  seeds  of  decay  and  death,  which, 
by  that  time,  had  become  strongly  developed 
in  it.  In  short,  while  young,  the  possessor  of 
the  secret  found  the  terms  of  immortal  life  too 
hard  to  be  accepted,  since  it  implied  the  giving 
up  of  most  of  the  things  that  made  life  desir 
able  in  his  view  ;  and  when  he  came  to  a  more 
reasonable  mind,  it  was  too  late.  And  so,  in 
all  the  generations  since  Friar  Bacon's  time,  the 
Nortons  have  been  born,  and  enjoyed  their 
young  days,  and  worried  through  their  man 
hood,  and  tottered  through  their  old  age  (unless 
taken  off  sooner  by  sword,  arrow,  ball,  fever,  or 
what  not),  and  died  in  their  beds,  like  men  that 
had  no  such  option  ;  and  so  this  old  yellow 
paper  has  done  not  the  least  good  to  any  mor 
tal.  Neither  do  I  see  how  it  can  do  any  good 
to  you,  since  you  know  not  the  rules,  moral  or 
dietetic,  that  are  essential  to  its  effect.  But  how 
did  you  come  by  it  ?  " 

"  It  matters  not  how,"  said  Septimius  gloom 
ily.  "  Enough  that  I  am  its  rightful  possessor 
and  inheritor.  Can  you  read  these  old  charac 
ters  ?  " 

"  Most  of  them,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  but  let 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

me  tell  you,  my  young  friend,  I  have  no  faith 
whatever  in  this  secret  ;  and,  having  meddled 
with  such  things  myself,  I  ought  to  know.  The 
old  physicians  and  chemists  had  strange  ideas  of 
the  virtues  of  plants,  drugs,  and  minerals,  and 
equally  strange  fancies  as  to  the  way  of  getting 
those  virtues  into  action.  They  would  throw 
a  hundred  different  potencies  into  a  caldron 
together,  and  put  them  on  the  fire,  and  expect 
to  brew  a  potency  containing  all  their  poten 
cies,  and  having  a  different  virtue  of  its  own. 
Whereas,  the  most  likely  result  would  be  that 
they  would  counteract  one  another,  and  the  con 
coction  be  of  no  virtue  at  all  ;  or  else  some 
more  powerful  ingredient  would  tincture  the 
whole." 

He  read  the  paper  again,  and  continued  :  — 
"  I  see  nothing  else  so  remarkable  in  this  re 
cipe,  as  that  it  is  chiefly  made  up  of  some  of  the 
commonest  things  that  grow ;  plants  that  you 
set  your  foot  upon  at  your  very  threshold,  in 
your  garden,  in  your  wood  walks,  wherever  you 
go.  I  doubt  not  old  Aunt  Keziah  knows  them, 
and  very  likely  she  has  brewed  them  up  in  that 
hell  drink,  the  remembrance  of  which  is  still 
rankling  in  my  stomach.  I  thought  I  had  swal 
lowed  the  Devil  himself,  whom  the  old  woman 
had  been  boiling  down.  It  would  be  curious 
enough  if  the  hideous  decoction  was  the  same 
as  old  Friar  Bacon  and  his  acolyte  discovered 
174 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

by  their  science  !  One  ingredient,  however,  one 
of  those  plants,  I  scarcely  think  the  old  lady  can 
have  put  into  her  pot  of  Devil's  elixir ;  for  it  is 
a  rare  plant,  that  does  not  grow  in  these  parts." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  asked  Septimius. 

"  Sanguine  a  sanguinissima"  said  the  doctor  ; 
"  it  has  no  vulgar  name  ;  but  it  produces  a  very 
beautiful  flower,  which  I  have  never  seen,  though 
some  seeds  of  it  were  sent  me  by  a  learned  friend 
in  Siberia.  The  others,  divested  of  their  Latin 
names,  are  as  common  as  plantain,  pigweed,  and 
burdock  ;  and  it  stands  to  reason  that,  if  vege 
table  Nature  has  any  such  wonderfully  effica 
cious  medicine  in  store  for  men,  and  means  them 
to  use  it,  she  would  have  strewn  it  everywhere 
plentifully  within  their  reach." 

"  But,  after  all,  it  would  be  a  mockery  on  the 
old  dame's  part,"  said  the  young  man,  somewhat 
bitterly,  "  since  she  would  thus  hold  the  desired 
thing  seemingly  within  our  reach  ;  but  because 
she  never  tells  us  how7  to  prepare  and  obtain  its 
efficacy,  we  miss  it  just  as  much  as  if  all  the  in 
gredients  were  hidden  from  sight  and  knowledge 
in  the  centre  of  the  earth.  We  are  the  play 
things  and  fools  of  Nature,  which  she  amuses 
herself  with  during  our  little  lifetime,  and  then 
breaks  for  mere  sport,  and  laughs  in  our  faces 
as  she  does  so." 

cc  Take  care,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  with  his  great  coarse  laugh.  "  I  rather  sus- 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

pect  that  you  have  already  got  beyond  the  age 
when  the  great  medicine  could  do  you  good  ; 
that  speech  indicates  a  great  toughness  and  hard 
ness  and  bitterness  about  the  heart  that  does  not 
accumulate  in  our  tender  years. " 

Septimius  took  little  or  no  notice  of  the  raillery 
of  the  grim  old  doctor,  but  employed  the  rest 
of  the  time  in  getting  as  much  information  as 
he  could  out  of  his  guest ;  and  though  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  show  him  the  precious  and 
sacred  manuscript,  yet  he  questioned  him  as 
closely  as  possible  without  betraying  his  secret, 
as  to  the  modes  of  rinding  out  cryptic  writings. 
The  doctor  was  not  without  the  perception  that 
his  dark-browed,  keen-eyed  acquaintance  had 
some  purpose  not  openly  avowed  in  all  these 
pertinacious,  distinct  questions ;  he  discovered 
a  central  reference  in  them  all,  and  perhaps  knew 
that  Septimius  must  have  in  his  possession  some 
writing  in  hieroglyphics,  cipher,  or  other  secret 
mode,  that  conveyed  instructions  how  to  oper 
ate  with  the  strange  recipe  that  he  had  shown 
him. 

"  You  had  better  trust  me  fully,  my  good  sir," 
said  he.  "  Not  but  what  I  will  give  you  all  the 
aid  I  can  without  it ;  for  you  have  done  me  a 
greater  benefit  than  you  are  aware  of,  before 
hand.  No  —  you  will  not  ?  Well,  if  you  can 
change  your  mind,  seek  me  out  in  Boston,  where 
I  have  seen  fit  to  settle  in  the  practice  of  my 
176 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

profession,  and  I  will  serve  you  according  to 
your  folly  ;  for  folly  it  is,  I  warn  you." 

Nothing  else  worthy  of  record  is  known  to 
have  passed  during  the  doctor's  visit ;  and  in 
due  time  he  disappeared,  as  it  were,  in  a  whiff 
of  tobacco  smoke,  leaving  an  odor  of  brandy 
and  tobacco  behind  him,  and  a  traditionary  mem 
ory  of  a  wizard  that  had  been  there.  Septimius 
went  to  work  with  what  items  of  knowledge  he 
had  gathered  from  him  ;  but  the  interview  had 
at  least  made  him  aware  of  one  thing,  which 
was,  that  he  must  provide  himself  with  all  pos 
sible  quantity  of  scientific  knowledge  of  botany, 
and  perhaps  more  extensive  knowledge,  in  order 
to  be  able  to  concoct  the  recipe.  It  was  the  fruit 
of  all  the  scientific  attainment  of  the  age  that 
produced  it  (so  said  the  legend,  which  seemed 
reasonable  enough),  a  great  philosopher  had 
wrought  his  learning  into  it ;  and  this  had  been 
attempered,  regulated,  improved,  by  the  quick, 
bright  intellect  of  his  scholar.  Perhaps,  thought 
Septimius,  another  deep  and  earnest  intelligence 
added  to  these  two  may  bring  the  precious  re 
cipe  to  still  greater  perfection.  At  least  it  shall 
be  tried.  So  thinking,  he  gathered  together  all 
the  books  that  he  could  find  relating  to  such 
studies  ;  he  spent  one  day,  moreover,  in  a  walk 
to  Cambridge,  where  he  searched  the  alcoves  of 
the  college  library  for  such  works  as  it  con 
tained  ;  and  borrowing  them  from  the  war-dis- 
177 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

turbed  institution  of  learning,  he  betook  himself 
homewards,  and  applied  himself  to  the  study 
with  an  earnestness  of  zealous  application  that 
perhaps  has  been  seldom  equalled  in  a  study  of 
so  quiet  a  character.  A  month  or  two  of  study, 
with  practice  upon  such  plants  as  he  found  upon 
his  hilltop,  and  along  the  brook  and  in  other 
neighboring  localities,  sufficed  to  do  a  great  deal 
for  him.  In  this  pursuit  he  was  assisted  by 
Sibyl,  who  proved  to  have  great  knowledge  in 
some  botanical  departments,  especially  among 
flowers  ;  and  in  her  cold  and  quiet  way,  she  met 
him  on  this  subject  and  glided  by  his  side,  as  she 
had  done  so  long,  a  companion,  a  daily  observer 
and  observed  of  him,  mixing  herself  up  with  his 
pursuits,  as  if  she  were  an  attendant  sprite  upon 
him. 

But  this  pale  girl  was  not  the  only  associate 
of  his  studies,  the  only  instructress,  whom  Sep- 
timius  found.  The  observation  which  Doctor 
Portsoaken  made  about  the  fantastic  possibility 
that  Aunt  Keziah  might  have  inherited  the  same 
recipe  from  her  Indian  ancestry  which  had  been 
struck  out  by  the  science  of  Friar  Bacon  and  his 
pupil  had  not  failed  to  impress  Septimius,  and 
to  remain  on  his  memory.  So,  not  long  after 
the  doctor's  departure,  the  young  man  took  oc 
casion  one  evening  to  say  to  his  aunt  that  he 
thought  his  stomach  was  a  little  out  of  order 
with  too  much  application,  and  that  perhaps 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

she  could  give  him  some  herb  drink  or  other 
that  would  be  good  for  him. 

"  That  I  can,'  Seppy,  my  darling/'  said  the 
old  woman,  "  and  I  'm  glad  you  have  the  sense 
to  ask  for  it  at  last.  Here  it  is  in  this  bottle ; 
and  though  that  foolish,  blaspheming  doctor 
turned  up  his  old  brandy  nose  at  it,  I  '11  drink 
with  him  any  day  and  come  off  better  than  he." 

So  saying,  she  took  out  of  the  closet  her 
brown  jug,  stopped  with  a  cork  that  had  a  rag 
twisted  round  it  to  make  it  tighter,  filled  a  mug 
half  full  of  the  concoction,  and  set  it  on  the 
table  before  Septimius. 

"  There,  child,  smell  of  that ;  the  smell  merely 
will  do  you  good ;  but  drink  it  down,  and  you  '11 
live  the  longer  for  it." 

"  Indeed,  Aunt  Keziah,  is  that  so?"  asked 
Septimius,  a  little  startled  by  a  recommendation 
which  in  some  measure  tallied  with  what  he 
wanted  in  a  medicine.  "  That 's  a  good  quality/' 

He  looked  into  the  mug,  and  saw  a  turbid, 
yellow  concoction,  not  at  all  attractive  to  the 
eye  ;  he  smelt  of  it,  and  was  partly  of  opinion 
that  Aunt  Keziah  had  mixed  a  certain  unfra- 
grant  vegetable,  called  skunk  cabbage,  with  the 
other  ingredients  of  her  witch  drink.  He  tasted 
it ;  not  a  mere  sip,  but  a  good,  genuine  gulp, 
being  determined  to  have  real  proof  of  what  the 
stuff  was  in  all  respects.  The  draught  seemed 
at  first  to  burn  in  his  mouth,  unaccustomed  to 
179 


SEPTIMIUS   FELTON 

any  drink  but  water,  and  to  go  scorching  all  the 
way  down  into  his  stomach,  making  him  sensi 
ble  of  the  depth  of  his  inwards  by  a  track  of 
fire,  far,  far  down  ;  and  then,  worse  than  the 
fire,  came  a  taste  of  hideous  bitterness  and  nau- 
seousness,  which  he  had  not  previously  conceived 
to  exist,  and  which  threatened  to  stir  up  his 
bowels  into  utter  revolt ;  but  knowing  Aunt 
Keziah's  touchiness  with  regard  to  this  concoc 
tion,  and  how  sacred  she  held  it,  he  made  an 
effort  of  real  heroism,  squelched  down  his  agony, 
and  kept  his  face  quiet,  with  the  exception  of 
one  strong  convulsion,  which  he  allowed  to  twist 
across  it  for  the  sake  of  saving  his  life. 

"  It  tastes  as  if  it  might  have  great  potency 
in  it,  Aunt  Keziah,"  said  this  unfortunate  young 
man  ;  "  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  it  is  made 
of,  and  how  you  brew  it ;  for  I  have  observed 
you  are  very  strict  and  secret  about  it." 

<c  Aha  !  you  have  seen  that,  have  you  ?  "  said 
Aunt  Keziah,  taking  a  sip  of  her  beloved  liquid, 
and  grinning  at  him  with  a  face  and  eyes  as  yel 
low  as  that  she  was  drinking.  In  fact,  the  idea 
struck  him,  that  in  temper,  and  all  appreciable 
qualities,  Aunt  Keziah  was  a  good  deal  like  this 
drink  of  hers,  having  probably  become  saturated 
by  them  while  she  drank  of  it.  And  then,  having 
drunk,  she  gloated  over  it,  and  tasted,  and  smelt 
of  the  cup  of  this  hellish  wine,  as  a  winebibber 
does  of  that  which  is  most  fragrant  and  delicate. 
180 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"And  you  want  to  know  how  I  make  it?  But 
first,  child,  tell  me  honestly,  do  you  love  this 
drink  of  mine  ?  Otherwise,  here,  and  at  once, 
we  stop  talking  about  it." 

"  I  love  it  for  its  virtues,"  said  Septimius, 
temporizing  with  his  conscience,  "  and  would 
prefer  it  on  that  account  to  the  rarest  wines." 

"  So  far  good,"  said  Aunt  Keziah,  who  could 
not  well  conceive  that  her  liquor  should  be 
otherwise  than  delicious  to  the  palate.  "  It  is 
the  most  virtuous  liquor  that  ever  was ;  and 
therefore  one  need  not  fear  drinking  too  much 
of  it.  And  you  want  to  know  what  it  is  made 
of?  Well,  I  have  often  thought  of  telling  you, 
Seppy,  my  boy,  when  you  should  come  to  be 
old  enough ;  for  I  have  no  other  inheritance  to 
leave  you,  and  you  are  all  of  my  blood,  unless 
I  should  happen  to  have  some  far-off  uncle 
among  the  Cape  Indians.  But  first,  you  must 
know  how  this  good  drink,  and  the  faculty  of 
making  it,  came  down  to  me  from  the  chiefs, 
and  sachems,  and  Peow-wows,  that  were  your 
ancestors  and  mine,  Septimius,  and  from  the  old 
wizard  who  was  my  great-grandfather  and  yours5 
and  who,  they  say,  added  the  fire  water  to  the 
other  ingredients,  and  so  gave  it  the  only  one 
thing  that  it  wanted  to  make  it  perfect." 

And  so  Aunt  Keziah,  who  had  now  put  her 
self  into  a  most  comfortable  and  jolly  state  by 
sipping  again,  and  after  pressing  Septimius  to 
181 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

mind  his  draught  (who  declined,  on  the  plea 
that  one  dram  at  a  time  was  enough  for  a  new 
beginner,  its  virtues  being  so  strong  as  well  as 
admirable),  the  old  woman  told  him  a  legend 
strangely  wild  and  uncouth,  and  mixed  up  of 
savage  and  civilized  life,  and  of  the  superstitions 
of  both,  but  which  yet  had  a  certain  analogy, 
that  impressed  Septimius  much,  to  the  story  that 
the  doctor  had  told  him. 

She  said  that,  many  ages  ago,  there  had  been 
a  wild  sachem  in  the  forest,  a  king  among  the 
Indians,  and  from  whom,  the  old  lady  said,  with 
a  look  of  pride,  she  and  Septimius  were  lineally 
descended,  and  were  probably  the  very  last  who 
inherited  one  drop  of  that  royal,  wise,  and  war 
like  blood.  The  sachem  had  lived  very  long, 
longer  than  anybody  knew,  for  the  Indians  kept 
no  record,  and  could  only  talk  of  a  great  num 
ber  of  moons  ;  and  they  said  he  was  as  old,  or 
older,  than  the  oldest  trees  ;  as  old  as  the  hills 
almost,  and  could  remember  back  to  the  days 
of  godlike  men,  who  had  arts  then  forgotten.  He 
was  a  wise  and  good  man,  and  could  foretell  as 
far  into  the  future  as  he  could  remember  into  the 
past ;  and  he  continued  to  live  on,  till  his  peo 
ple  were  afraid  that  he  would  live  forever,  and 
so  disturb  the  whole  order  of  nature ;  and  they 
thought  it  time  that  so  good  a  man,  and  so  great 
a  warrior  and  wizard,  should  be  gone  to  the 
happy  hunting  grounds,  and  that  so  wise  a 
182 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

counsellor  should  go  and  tell  his  experience  of 
life  to  the  Great  Father,  and  give  him  an  ac 
count  of  matters  here,  and  perhaps  lead  him  to 
make  some  changes  in  the  conduct  of  the  lower 
world.  And  so,  all  these  things  duly  consid 
ered,  they  very  reverently  assassinated  the  great, 
never  dying  sachem  ;  for  though  safe  against 
disease,  and  undecayable  by  age,  he  was  capable 
of  being  killed  by  violence,  though  the  hard 
ness  of  his  skull  broke  to  fragments  the  stone 
tomahawk  with  which  they  at  first  tried  to  kill 
him. 

So  a  deputation  of  the  best  and  bravest  of  the 
tribe  went  to  the  great  sachem,  and  told  him 
their  thought,  and  reverently  desired  his  con 
sent  to  be  put  out  of  the  world ;  and  the  undy 
ing  one  agreed  with  them  that  it  was  better  for 
his  own  comfort  that  he  should  die,  and  that  he 
had  long  been  weary  of  the  world,  having  learned 
all  that  it  could  teach  him,  and  having,  chiefly, 
learned  to  despair  of  ever  making  the  red  race 
much  better  than  they  now  were.  So  he  cheer 
fully  consented,  and  told  them  to  kill  him  if 
they  could  :  and  first  they  tried  the  stone  hatchet, 
which  was  broken  against  his  skull  ;  and  then 
they  shot  arrows  at  him,  w7hich  could  not  pierce 
the  toughness  of  his  skin ;  and  finally  they  plas 
tered  up  his  nose  and  mouth  (which  kept  utter 
ing  wisdom  to  the  last)  with  clay,  and  set  him 
to  bake  in  the  sun ;  so  at  last  his  life  burnt  out 

183 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

of  his  breast,  tearing  his  body  to  pieces,  and  he 
died. 

[Make  this  legend  grotesque,  and  express  the 
weariness  of  the  tribe  at  the  intolerable  control 
the  undying  one  had  of  them  ;  his  always  bringing 
up  precepts  from  his  own  experience,  never  con 
senting  to  anything  new,  and  so  impeding  pro 
gress  ;  his  habits  hardening  into  him,  his  ascribing 
to  himself  all  wisdom,  and  depriving  everybody  of 
his  right  to  successive  command ;  his  endless  talk, 
and  dwelling  on  the  past,  so  that  the  world  could 
not  bear  him.  "Describe  his  ascetic  and  severe  hab 
its,  his  rigid  calmness,  etc.~\ 

But  before  the  great  sagamore  died  he  im 
parted  to  a  chosen  one  of  his  tribe,  the  next 
wisest  to  himself,  the  secret  of  a  potent  and  de 
licious  drink,  the  constant  imbibing  of  which, 
together  with  his  abstinence  from  luxury  and 
passion,  had  kept  him  alive  so  long,  and  would 
doubtless  have  compelled  him  to  live  forever. 
This  drink  was  compounded  of  many  ingredi 
ents,  all  of  which  were  remembered  and  handed 
down  in  tradition,  save  one,  which,  either  be 
cause  it  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  or  for  some 
other  reason,  was  forgotten  ;  so  that  the  drink 
ceased  to  give  immortal  life  as  before.  They 
say  it  was  a  beautiful  purple  flower.  \_Perhaps 
the  Devil  taught  him  the  drink,  or  else  the  Great 
Spirit,  —  doubtful  which.~\  But  it  still  was  a 
most  excellent  drink,  and  conducive  to  health, 
184 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  the  cure  of  all  diseases  ;  and  the  Indians  had 
it  at  the  time  of  the  settlement  by  the  English ; 
and  at  one  of  those  wizard  meetings  in  the  for 
est,  where  the  Black  Man  used  to  meet  his  red 
children  and  his  white  ones,  and  be  jolly  with 
them,  a  great  Indian  wizard  taught  the  secret  to 
Septimius's  great-grandfather,  who  was  a  wizard, 
and  died  for  it;  and  he,  in  return,  taught  the 
Indians  to  mix  it  with  rum,  thinking  that  this 
might  be  the  very  ingredient  that  was  missing, 
and  that  by  adding  it  he  might  give  endless  life 
to  himself  and  all  his  Indian  friends,  among 
whom  he  had  taken  a  wife. 

"  But  your  great-grandfather,  you  know,  had 
not  a  fair  chance  to  test  its  virtues,  having  been 
hanged  for  a  wizard  ;  and  as  for  the  Indians,  they 
probably  mixed  too  much  fire  water  with  their 
liquid,  so  that  it  burnt  them  up,  and  they  all 
died  ;  and  my  mother,  and  her  mother,  —  who 
taught  the  drink  to  me,  —  and  her  mother  afore 
her,  thought  it  a  sin  to  try  to  live  longer  than  the 
Lord  pleased,  so  they  let  themselves  die.  And 
though  the  drink  is  good,  Septimius,  and  tooth 
some,  as  you  see,  yet  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I 
were  getting  old,  like  other  people,  and  may  die 
in  the  course  of  the  next  half-century  ;  so  perhaps 
the  rum  was  not  just  the  thing  that  was  wanting 
to  make  up  the  recipe.  But  it  is  very  good  ! 
Take  a  drop  more  of  it,  dear." 

"  Not  at  present,  I  thank  you,  Aunt  Keziah," 
185 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

said  Septimius  gravely  ;  "  but  will  you  tell  me 
what  the  ingredients  are,  and  how  you  make 
it?" 

"Yes,  I  will,  my  boy,  and  you  shall  write 
them  down/*  said  the  old  woman  ;  "  for  it 's  a 
good  drink,  and  none  the  worse,  it  may  be,  for 
not  making  you  live  forever.  I  sometimes  think 
I  had  as  lief  go  to  heaven  as  keep  on  living 
here." 

Accordingly,  making  Septimius  take  pen  and 
ink,  she  proceeded  to  tell  him  a  list  of  plants 
and  herbs  and  forest  productions,  and  he  was 
surprised  to  find  that  it  agreed  most  wonderfully 
with  the  recipe  contained  in  the  old  manuscript, 
as  he  had  puzzled  it  out,  and  as  it  had  been  ex 
plained  by  the  doctor.  There  were  a  few  varia 
tions,  it  is  true  ;  but  even  here  there  was  a  close 
analogy,  plants  indigenous  to  America  being 
substituted  for  cognate  productions,  the  growth 
of  Europe.  Then  there  was  another  differ 
ence  in  the  mode  of  preparation,  Aunt  Keziah's 
nostrum  being  a  concoction,  whereas  the  old 
manuscript  gave  a  process  of  distillation.  This 
similarity  had  a  strong  effect  on  Septimius's 
imagination.  Here  was,  in  one  case,  a  drink 
suggested,  as  might  be  supposed,  to  a  primi 
tive  people  by  something  similar  to  that  in 
stinct  by  which  the  brute  creation  recognizes 
the  medicaments  suited  to  its  needs,  so  that 
they  mixed  up  fragrant  herbs  for  reasons  wiser 
186 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

than  they  knew,  and  made  them  into  a  salutary 
potion  ;  and  here,  again,  was  a  drink  contrived 
by  the  utmost  skill  of  a  great  civilized  philoso 
pher,  searching  the  whole  field  of  science  for  his 
purpose  :  and  these  two  drinks  proved,  in  all 
essential  particulars,  to  be  identically  the  same. 

"  O  Aunt  Keziah,"  said  he,  with  a  longing 
earnestness,  "  are  you  sure  that  you  cannot  re 
member  that  one  ingredient  ?  " 

"  No,  Septimius,  I  cannot  possibly  do  it," 
said  she.  "  I  have  tried  many  things,  skunk 
cabbage,  wormwood,  and  a  thousand  things  ;  for 
it  is  truly  a  pity  that  the  chief  benefit  of  the 
thing  should  be  lost  for  so  little.  But  the  only 
effect  was,  to  spoil  the  good  taste  of  the  stuff, 
and,  two  or  three  times,  to  poison  myself,  so 
that  I  broke  out  all  over  blotches,  and  once 
lost  the  use  of  my  left  arm,  and  got  a  dizziness 
in  the  head,  and  a  rheumatic  twist  in  my  knee, 
a  hardness  of  hearing,  and  a  dimness  of  sight, 
and  the  trembles :  all  of  which  I  certainly  be 
lieve  to  have  been  caused  by  my  putting  some 
thing  else  into  this  blessed  drink  besides  the 
good  New  England  rum.  Stick  to  that,  Seppy, 
my  dear." 

So  saying,  Aunt  Keziah  took  yet  another  sip 
of  the  beloved  liquid,  after  vainly  pressing  Septi 
mius  to  do  the  like  ;  and  then  lighting  her  old 
clay  pipe,  she  sat  down  in  the  chimney  corner, 
meditating,  dreaming,  muttering  pious  prayers 


SEPTIA4IUS  FELTON 

and  ejaculations,  and  sometimes  looking  up  the 
wide  flue  of  the  chimney,  with  thoughts,  per 
haps,  how  delightful  it  must  have  been  to  fly 
up  there,  in  old  times,  on  excursions  by  mid 
night  into  the  forest,  where  was  the  Black  Man, 
and  the  Puritan  deacons  and  ladies,  and  those 
wild  Indian  ancestors  of  hers  ;  and  where  the 
wildness  of  the  forest  was  so  grim  and  delight 
ful,  and  so  unlike  the  commonplaceness  in  which 
she  spent  her  life.  For  thus  did  the  savage 
strain  of  the  woman,  mixed  up  as  it  was  with 
the  other  weird  and  religious  parts  of  her  com 
position,  sometimes  snatch  her  back  into  bar 
barian  life  and  its  instincts ;  and  in  Septimius, 
though  further  diluted,  and  modified  likewise 
by  higher  cultivation,  there  was  the  same  tend 
ency. 

Septimius  escaped  from  the  old  woman,  and 
was  glad  to  breathe  the  free  air  again,  so  much 
had  he  been  wrought  upon  by  her  wild  legends 
and  wild  character,  the  more  powerful  by  its 
analogy  with  his  own ;  and  perhaps,  too,  his 
brain  had  been  a  little  bewildered  by  the  draught 
of  her  diabolical  concoction  which  she  had  com 
pelled  him  to  take.  At  any  rate,  he  was  glad 
to  escape  to  his  hilltop,  the  free  air  of  which 
had  doubtless  contributed  to  keep  him  in  health 
through  so  long  a  course  of  morbid  thought 
and  estranged  study  as  he  had  addicted  him 
self  to. 

188 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Here,  as  it  happened,  he  found  both  Rose 
Garfield  and  Sibyl  Dacy,  whom  the  pleasant 
summer  evening  had  brought  out.  They  had 
formed  a  friendship,  or  at  least  society ;  and 
there  could  not  well  be  a  pair  more  unlike, — 
the  one  so  natural,  so  healthy,  so  fit  to  live  in 
the  world ;  the  other  such  a  morbid,  pale  thing. 
So  there  they  were,  walking  arm  in  arm,  with 
one  arm  round  each  other's  waist,  as  girls  love 
to  do.  They  greeted  the  young  man  in  their 
several  ways,  and  began  to  walk  to  and  fro  to 
gether,  looking  at  the  sunset  as  it  came  on,  and 
talking  of  things  on  earth  and  in  the  clouds. 

"When  has  Robert  Hagburn  been  heard 
from  ?  "  asked  Septimius,  who,  involved  in  his 
own  pursuits,  was  altogether  behindhand  in  the 
matters  of  the  war,  —  shame  to  him  for  it ! 

"  There  came  news,  two  days  past,"  said 
Rose,  blushing.  "  He  is  on  his  way  home  with 
the  remnant  of  General  Arnold's  command,  and 
will  be  here  soon." 

"  He  is  a  brave  fellow,  Robert,"  said  Septi 
mius  carelessly.  "  And  I  know  not,  since  life 
is  so  short,  that  anything  better  can  be  done 
with  it  than  to  risk  it  as  he  does." 

"  I  truly  think  not,"  said  Rose  Garfield  com 
posedly. 

"  What  a  blessing  it  is  to  mortals,"  said  Sibyl 
Dacy,  "  what  a  kindness  of  Providence,  that  life 
is  made  so  uncertain  ;  that  death  is  thrown  in 
189 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

among  the  possibilities  of  our  being  ;  that  these 
awful  mysteries  are  thrown  around  us,  into  which 
we  may  vanish  !  For,  without  it,  how  would 
it  be  possible  to  be  heroic,  how  should  we  plod 
along  in  commonplaces  forever,  never  dreaming 
high  things,  never  risking  anything  ?  For  my 
part,  I  think  man  is  more  favored  than  the  an 
gels,  and  made  capable  of  higher  heroism,  greater 
virtue,  and  of  a  more  excellent  spirit  than  they, 
because  we  have  such  a  mystery  of  grief  and 
terror  around  us  ;  whereas  they,  being  in  a  cer 
tainty  of  God's  light,  seeing  his  goodness  and 
his  purposes  more  perfectly  than  we,  cannot  be 
so  brave  as  often  poor  weak  man,  and  weaker 
woman,  has  the  opportunity  to  be,  and  some 
times  makes  use  of  it.  God  gave  the  whole 
world  to  man,  and  if  he  is  left  alone  with  it,  it 
will  make  a  clod  of  him  at  last ;  but,  to  remedy 
that,  God  gave  man  a  grave,  and  it  redeems  all, 
while  it  seems  to  destroy  all,  and  makes  an  im 
mortal  spirit  of  him  in  the  end." 

"  Dear  Sibyl,  you  are  inspired,"  said  Rose, 
gazing  in  her  face. 

"  I  think  you  ascribe  a  great  deal  too  much 
potency  to  the  grave,"  said  Septimius,  pausing 
involuntarily  alone  by  the  little  hillock,  whose 
contents  he  knew  so  well.  "  The  grave  seems 
to  me  a  vile  pitfall,  put  right  in  our  pathway, 
and  catching  most  of  us,  —  all  of  us, —  causing 
us  to  tumble  in  at  the  most  inconvenient  oppor- 
190 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tunities,  so  that  all  human  life  is  a  jest  and  a 
farce,  just  for  the  sake  of  this  inopportune 
death  ;  for  I  observe  it  never  waits  for  us  to 
accomplish  anything :  we  may  have  the  salva 
tion  of  a  country  in  hand,  but  we  are  none  the 
less  likely  to  die  for  that.  So  that,  being  a 
believer,  on  the  whole,  in  the  wisdom  and  gra- 
ciousness  of  Providence,  I  am  convinced  that 
dying  is  a  mistake,  and  that  by  and  by  we  shall 
overcome  it.  I  say  there  is  no  use  in  the  grave." 

"  I  still  adhere  to  what  I  said,"  answered 
Sibyl  Dacy ;  "  and  besides,  there  is  another  use 
of  a  grave  which  I  have  often  observed  in  old 
English  graveyards,  where  the  moss  grows  green, 
and  embosses  the  letters  of  the  gravestones;  and 
also  graves  are  very  good  for  flower  beds." 

Nobody  ever  could  tell  when  the  strange 
girl  was  going  to  say  what  was  laughable,  — 
when  what  was  melancholy  ;  and  neither  of 
Sibyl's  auditors  knew  quite  what  to  make  of 
this  speech.  Neither  could  Septimius  fail  to 
be  a  little  startled  by  seeing  her,  as  she  spoke 
of  the  grave  as  a  flower  bed,  stoop  down  to  the 
little  hillock  to  examine  the  flowers,  which,  in 
deed,  seemed  to  prove  her  words  by  growing 
there  in  strange  abundance,  and  of  many  sorts ; 
so  that,  if  they  could  all  have  bloomed  at  once, 
the  spot  would  have  looked  like  a  bouquet  by 
itself,  or  as  if  the  earth  were  richest  in  beauty 
there,  or  as  if  seeds  had  been  lavished  by  some 
191 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

florist.     Septimius  could  not  account  for  it,  for 
though  the  hillside  did  produce  certain  flowers, 

—  the  aster,  the    golden-rod,   the   violet,  and 
other  such  simple  and  common  things,  —  yet 
this  seemed  as  if  a  carpet  of  bright  colors  had 
been  thrown  down  there  and  covered  the  spot. 

"  This  is  very  strange,"  said  he. 
"  Yes,"  said    Sibyl    Dacy,    "  there   is   some 
strange  richness  in  this  little  spot  of  soil." 
"  Where  could  the  seeds  have  come  from  ? 

—  that    is    the    greatest  wonder,"    said    Rose. 
"  You  might  almost  teach  me  botany,  methinks, 
on  this  one  spot." 

"  Do  you  know  this  plant  ?  "  asked  Sibyl  of 
Septimius,  pointing  to  one  not  yet  in  flower, 
but  of  singular  leaf,  that  was  thrusting  itself  up 
out  of  the  ground,  on  the  very  centre  of  the 
grave,  over  where  the  breast  of  the  sleeper  be 
low  might  seem  to  be.  "  I  think  there  is  no 
other  here  like  it." 

Septimius  stooped  down  to  examine  it,  and 
was  convinced  that  it  was  unlike  anything  he 
had  seen  of  the  flower  kind  ;  a  leaf  of  a  dark 
green,  with  purple  veins  traversing  it,  it  had  a 
sort  of  questionable  aspect,  as  some  plants  have, 
so  that  you  would  think  it  very  likely  to  be 
poison,  and  would  not  like  to  touch  or  smell 
very  intimately,  without  first  inquiring  who 
would  be  its  guarantee  that  it  should  do  no  mis- 

192 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

chief.     That   it   had   some   richness   or   other, 
either  baneful  or  beneficial,  you  could  not  doubt. 

"  I  think  it  poisonous,"  said  Rose  Garfield, 
shuddering,  for  she  was  a  person  so  natural  she 
hated  poisonous  things,  or  anything  speckled 
especially,  and  did  not,  indeed,  love  strange 
ness.  "  Yet  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  bore  a 
beautiful  flower  by  and  by.  Nevertheless,  if  I 
were  to  do  just  as  I  feel  inclined,  I  should  root 
it  up  and  fling  it  away." 

"  Shall  she  do  so  ?  "  said  Sibyl  to  Septimius. 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  said  he  hastily. 
"  Above  all  things,  I  desire  to  see  what  will 
come  of  this  plant." 

"  Be  it  as  you  please,"  said  Sibyl.  "  Mean 
while,  if  you  like  to  sit  down  here  and  listen  to 
me,  I  will  tell  you  a  story  that  happens  to  come 
into  my  mind  just  now,  —  I  cannot  tell  why. 
It  is  a  legend  of  an  old  hall  that  I  know  well, 
and  have  known  from  my  childhood,  in  one  of 
the  northern  counties  of  England,  where  I  was 
born.  Would  you  like  to  hear  it,  Rose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  all  things,"  said  she.  "  I  like  all 
stories  of  hall  and  cottage  in  the  old  country, 
though  now  we  must  not  call  it  our  country 
any  more." 

Sibyl  looked  at  Septimius,  as  if  to  inquire 
whether  he,  too,  chose  to  listen  to  her  story, 
and  he  made  answer  :  — 
193 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

44  Yes,  I  shall  like  to  hear  the  legend,  if  it  is 
a  genuine  one  that  has  been  adopted  into  the 
popular  belief,  and  came  down  in  chimney 
corners  with  the  smoke  and  soot  that  gathers 
there  ;  and  incrusted  over  with  humanity,  by 
passing  from  one  homely  mind  to  another. 
Then,  such  stories  get  to  be  true,  in  a  certain 
sense,  and  indeed  in  that  sense  may  be  called 
true  throughout,  for  the  very  nucleus,  the  fiction 
in  them,  seems  to  have  come  out  of  the  heart 
of  man  in  a  way  that  cannot  be  imitated  of 
malice  aforethought.  Nobody  can  make  a  tra 
dition  ;  it  takes  a  century  to  make  it." 

"  I  know  not  whether  this  legend  has  the 
character  you  mean,"  said  Sibyl,  "but  it  has 
lived  much  more  than  a  century  ;  and  here  it  is. 

"  On  the  threshold  of  one  of  the  doors  of 

Hall  there  is  a  bloody  footstep  impressed 

into  the  doorstep,  and  ruddy  as  if  the  bloody 
foot  had  just  trodden  there ;  and  it  is  averred 
that,  on  a  certain  night  of  the  year,  and  at  a  cer 
tain  hour  of  the  night,  if  you  go  and  look  at 
that  doorstep  you  will  see  the  mark  wet  with 
fresh  blood.  Some  have  pretended  to  say  that 
this  appearance  of  blood  was  but  dew  ;  but  can 
dew  redden  a  cambric  handkerchief?  Will  it 
crimson  the  finger  tips  when  you  touch  it  ? 
And  that  is  what  the  bloody  footstep  will  surely 
do  when  the  appointed  night  and  hour  come 
194 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

round,  this  very  year,  just  as  it  would  three 
hundred  years  ago. 

"  Well,  but  how  did  it  come  there  ?  I  know 
not  precisely  in  what  age  it  wras,  but  long  ago, 
when  light  was  beginning  to  shine  into  what 
were  called  the  dark  ages,  there  was  a  lord  of 
Hall  who  applied  himself  deeply  to  know 
ledge  and  science,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
wisest  man  of  that  age,  —  a  man  so  wise  that  he 
was  thought  to  be  a  wizard  ;  and,  indeed,  he  may 
have  been  one,  if  to  be  a  wizard  consists  in  hav 
ing  command  over  secret  powers  of  nature,  that 
other  men  do  not  even  suspect  the  existence  of, 
and  the  control  of  which  enables  one  to  do  feats 
that  seem  as  wonderful  as  raising  the  dead.  It 
is  needless  to  tell  you  all  the  strange  stories  that 
have  survived  to  this  day  about  the  old  Hall  ; 
and  how  it  is  believed  that  the  master  of  it, 
owing  to  his  ancient  science,  has  still  a  sort  of 
residence  there,  and  control  of  the  place  ;  and 
how,  in  one  of  the  chambers,  there  is  still  his 
antique  table,  and  his  chair,  and  some  rude  old 
instruments  and  machinery,  and  a  book,  and 
everything  in  readiness,  just  as  if  he  might  still 
come  back  to  finish  some  experiment.  What 
it  is  important  to  say  is,  that  one  of  the  chief 
things  to  which  the  old  lord  applied  himself  was 
to  discover  the  means  of  prolonging  his  own 
life,  so  that  its  duration  should  be  indefinite,  if 
not  infinite;  and  such  was  his  science,  that  he 
195 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

was  believed  to  have  attained  this  magnificent 
and  awful  purpose. 

"  So,  as  you  may  suppose,  the  man  of  sci 
ence  had  great  joy  in  having  done  this  thing, 
both  for  the  pride  of  it,  and  because  it  was  so 
delightful  a  thing  to  have  before  him  the  pro 
spect  of  endless  time,  which  he  might  spend  in 
adding  more  and  more  to  his  science,  and  so 
doing  good  to  the  world  ;  for  the  chief  obstruc 
tion  to  the  improvement  of  the  world  and  the 
growth  of  knowledge  is,  that  mankind  cannot 
go  straight  forward  in  it,  but  continually  there 
have  to  be  new  beginnings,  and  it  takes  every 
new  man  half  his  life,  if  not  the  whole  of  it, 
to  come  up  to  the  point  where  his  predecessor 
left  off.  And  so  this  noble  man  —  this  man  of 
a  noble  purpose  —  spent  many  years  in  finding 
out  this  mighty  secret ;  and  at  last,  it  is  said, 
he  succeeded.  But  on  what  terms  ? 

"  Well,  it  is  said  that  the  terms  were  dreadful 
and  horrible  ;  insomuch  that  the  wise  man  hesi 
tated  whether  it  were  lawful  and  desirable  to 
take  advantage  of  them,  great  as  was  the  object 
in  view. 

"  You  see,  the  object  of  the  lord  of Hall 

was  to  take  a  life  from  the  course  of  Nature,  and 
Nature  did  not  choose  to  be  defrauded  ;  so  that, 
great  as  was  the  power  of  this  scientific  man 
over  her,  she  would  not  consent  that  he  should 
escape  the  necessity  of  dying  at  his  proper  time, 
196 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

except  upon  condition  of  sacrificing  some  other 
life  for  his  ;  and  this  was  to  be  done  once  for 
every  thirty  years  that  he  chose  to  live,  thirty 
years  being  the  account  of  a  generation  of  man  ; 
and  if  in  any  way,  in  that  time,  this  lord  could 
be  the  death  of  a  human  being,  that  satisfied  the 
requisition,  and  he  might  live  on.  There  is  a 
form  of  the  legend  which  says,  that  one  of  the 
ingredients  of  the  drink  which  the  nobleman 
brewed  by  his  science  was  the  heart's  blood  of 
a  pure  young  boy  or  girl.  But  this  I  reject,  as 
too  coarse  an  idea ;  and,  indeed,  I  think  it  may 
be  taken  to  mean  symbolically,  that  the  person 
who  desires  to  engross  to  himself  more  than  his 
share  of  human  life  must  do  it  by  sacrificing  to 
his  selfishness  some  dearest  interest  of  another 
person,  who  has  a  good  right  to  life,  and  may 
be  as  useful  in  it  as  he. 

"  Now,  this  lord  was  a  just  man  by  nature,  and 
if  he  had  gone  astray,  it  was  greatly  by  reason  of 
his  earnest  wish  to  do  something  for  the  poor, 
wicked,  struggling,  bloody,  uncomfortable  race 
of  man,  to  which  he  belonged.  He  bethought 
himself  whether  he  would  have  a  right  to  take 
the  life  of  one  of  those  creatures,  without  their 
own  consent,  in  order  to  prolong  his  own  ;  and 
after  much  arguing  to  and  fro,  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  should  not  have  the  right, 
unless  it  were  a  life  over  which  he  had  control, 
and  which  was  the  next  to  his  own.  He  looked 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

round  him  ;  he  was  a  lonely  and  abstracted  man, 
secluded  by  his  studies  from  human  affections, 
and  there  was  but  one  human  being  whom  he 
cared  for ;  —  that  was  a  beautiful  kinswoman, 
an  orphan,  whom  his  father  had  brought  up, 
and,  dying,  left  her  to  his  care.  There  was 
great  kindness  and  affection  —  as  great  as  the 
abstracted  nature  of  his  pursuits  would  allow 
—  on  the  part  of  this  lord  towards  the  beauti 
ful  young  girl ;  but  not  what  is  called  love,  — 
at  least,  he  never  acknowledged  it  to  himself. 
But,  looking  into  his  heart,  he  saw  that  she,  if 
any  one,  was  to  be  the  person  whom  the  sacrifice 
demanded,  and  that  he  might  kill  twenty  others 
without  effect,  but  if  he  took  the  life  of  this  one, 
it  would  make  the  charm  strong  and  good. 

"  My  friends,  I  have  meditated  many  a  time 
on  this  ugly  feature  of  my  legend,  and  am  un 
willing  to  take  it  in  the  literal  sense ;  so  I  con 
ceive  its  spiritual  meaning  (for  everything,  you 
know,  has  its  spiritual  meaning,  which  to  the  lit 
eral  meaning  is  what  the  soul  is  to  the  body), — 
its  spiritual  meaning  was,  that  to  the  deep  pur 
suit  of  science  we  must  sacrifice  great  part  of  the 
joy  of  life;  that  nobody  can  be  great,  and  do 
great  things,  without  giving  up  to  death,  so  far 
as  he  regards  his  enjoyment  of  it,  much  that  he 
would  gladly  enjoy  :  and  in  that  sense  I  choose 
to  take  it.  But  the  earthly  old  legend  will  have  it 
that  this  mad,  high-minded,  heroic,  murderous 
198 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

lord  did  insist  upon  it  with  himself  that  he  must 
murder  this  poor,  loving,  and  beloved  child. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  delay  upon  this  horrible 
matter,  and  to  tell  you  how  he  argued  it  with 
himself;  and  how,  the  more  and  more  he  argued 
it,  the  more  reasonable  it  seemed,  the  more  abso 
lutely  necessary,  the  more  a  duty,  that  the  ter 
rible  sacrifice  should  be  made.  Here  was  this 
great  good  to  be  done  to  mankind,  and  all  that 
stood  in  the  way  of  it  was  one  little  delicate  life, 
so  frail  that  it  was  likely  enough  to  be  blown  out, 
any  day,  by  the  mere  rude  blast  that  the  rush  of 
life  creates,  as  it  streams  along,  or  by  any  slight 
est  accident ;  so  good  and  pure,  too,  that  she  was 
quite  unfit  for  this  world,  and  not  capable  of  any 
happiness  in  it ;  and  all  that  was  asked  of  her 
was  to  allow  herself  to  be  transported  to  a  place 
where  she  would  be  happy,  and  would  find  com 
panions  fit  for  her,  —  which  he,  her  only  present 
companion,  certainly  was  not.  In  fine,  he  re 
solved  to  shed  the  sweet,  fragrant  blood  of  this 
little  violet  that  loved  him  so. 

CI  Well,  let  us  hurry  over  this  part  of  the  story 
as  fast  as  we  can.  He  did  slay  this  pure  young 
girl  :  he  took  her  into  the  wood  near  the  house, 
an  old  wood  that  is  standing  yet,  with  some  of 
its  magnificent  oaks ;  and  then  he  plunged  a 
dagger  into  her  heart,  after  they  had  had  a  very 
tender  and  loving  talk  together,  in  which  he  had 
tried  to  open  the  matter  tenderly  to  her,  and 
199 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

make  her  understand  that,  though  he  was  to  slay 
her,  it  was  really  for  the  very  reason  that  he 
loved  her  better  than  anything  else  in  the  world, 
and  that  he  would  far  rather  die  himself,  if  that 
would  answer  the  purpose  at  all.  Indeed,  he  is 
said  to  have  offered  her  the  alternative  of  slay 
ing  him,  and  taking  upon  herself  the  burden  of 
indefinite  life,  and  the  studies  and  pursuits  by 
which  he  meant  to  benefit  mankind.  But  she, 
it  is  said,  —  this  noble,  pure,  loving  child,  — 
she  looked  up  into  his  face  and  smiled  sadly,  and 
then  snatching  the  dagger  from  him,  she  plunged 
it  into  her  own  heart.  I  cannot  tell  whether 
this  be  true,  or  whether  she  waited  to  be  killed 
by  him ;  but  this  I  know,  that  in  the  same  cir 
cumstances  I  think  I  should  have  saved  my  lover 
or  my  friend  the  pain  of  killing  me.  There  she 
lay  dead,  at  any  rate,  and  he  buried  her  in  the 
wood,  and  returned  to  the  house  ;  and,  as  it 
happened,  he  had  set  his  right  foot  in  her  blood, 
and  his  shoe  was  wet  in  it,  and  by  some  mirac 
ulous  fate  it  left  a  track  all  along  the  wood 
path,  and  into  the  house,  and  on  the  stone  steps 
of  the  threshold,  and  up  into  his  chamber,  all 
along ;  and  the  servants  saw  it  the  next  day,  and 
wondered,  and  whispered,  and  missed  the  fair 
young  girl,  and  looked  askance  at  their  lord's 
right  foot,  and  turned  pale,  all  of  them,  as  death. 
"  And  next,  the  legend  says,  that  Sir  Forres 
ter  was  struck  with  horror  at  what  he  had  done, 
200 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  could  not  bear  the  laboratory  where  he  had 
toiled  so  long,  and  was  sick  to  death  of  the  object 
that  he  had  pursued,  and  was  most  miserable,  and 
fled  from  his  old  Hall,  and  was  gone  full  many  a 
day.  But  all  the  while  he  was  gone  there  was  the 
mark  of  a  bloody  footstep  impressed  upon  the 
stone  doorstep  of  the  Hall.  The  track  had  lain 
all  along  through  the  wood  path,  and  across  the 
lawn,  to  the  old  Gothic  door  of  the  Hall ;  but 
the  rain,  the  English  rain,  that  is  always  falling, 
had  come  the  next  day,  and  washed  it  all  away. 
The  track  had  lain,  too,  across  the  broad  hall, 
and  up  the  stairs,  and  into  the  lord's  study ;  but 
there  it  had  lain  on  the  rushes  that  were  strewn 
there,  and  these  the  servants  had  gathered  care 
fully  up,  and  thrown  them  away,  and  spread  fresh 
ones.  So  that  it  was  only  on  the  threshold  that 
the  mark  remained. 

"  But  the  legend  says,  that  wherever  Sir  For 
rester  went  in  his  wanderings  about  the  world, 
he  left  a  bloody  track  behind  him.  It  was  won 
derful,  and  very  inconvenient,  this  phenomenon. 
When  he  went  into  a  church,  you  would  see  the 
track  up  the  broad  aisle,  and  a  little  red  puddle 
in  the  place  where  he  sat  or  knelt.  Once  he 
went  to  the  king's  court,  and  there  being  a  track 
up  to  the  very  throne,  the  king  frowned  upon 
him,  so  that  he  never  came  there  any  more. 
Nobody  could  tell  how  it  happened  ;  his  foot 
was  not  seen  to  bleed,  only  there  was  the  bloody 

201 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

track  behind  him,  wherever  he  went ;  and  he  was 
a  horror-stricken  man,  always  looking  behind 
him  to  see  the  track,  and  then  hurrying  onward, 
as  if  to  escape  his  own  tracks ;  but  always  they 
followed  him  as  fast. 

"In  the  hall  of  feasting,  there  was  the  bloody 
track  to  his  chair.  The  learned  men  whom  he 
consulted  about  this  strange  difficulty  conferred 
with  one  another,  and  with  him,  who  was  equal 
to  any  of  them,  and  pished  and  pshawed,  and 
said,  c  O,  there  is  nothing  miraculous  in  this ; 
it  is  only  a  natural  infirmity,  which  can  easily 
be  put  an  end  to,  though,  perhaps,  the  stop 
page  of  such  an  evacuation  will  cause  damage  to 
other  parts  of  the  frame.'  Sir  Forrester  always 
said,  c  Stop  it,  my  learned  brethren,  if  you  can ; 
no  matter  what  the  consequences/  And  they 
did  their  best,  but  without  result ;  so  that  he  was 
still  compelled  to  leave  his  bloody  track  on  their 
college  rooms  and  combination  rooms,  the  same 
as  elsewhere;  and  in  street  and  in  wilderness, — 
yes,  and  in  the  battlefield,  —  they  said,  his  track 
looked  freshest  and  reddest  of  all.  So,  at  last, 
finding  the  notice  he  attracted  inconvenient,  this 
unfortunate  lord  deemed  it  best  to  go  back  to  his 
own  Hall,  where,  living  among  faithful  old  ser 
vants  born  in  the  family,  he  could  hush  the  mat 
ter  up  better  than  elsewhere,  and  not  be  stared 
at  continually,  or,  glancing  round,  see  people 
holding  up  their  hands  in  terror  at  seeing  a 

202 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

bloody  track  behind  him.  And  so  home  he 
came,  and  there  he  saw  the  bloody  track  on  the 
doorstep,  and  dolefully  went  into  the  hall,  and 
up  the  stairs,  an  old  servant  ushering  him  into 
his  chamber,  and  half  a  dozen  others  following 
behind,  gazing,  shuddering,  pointing  with  quiv 
ering  fingers,  looking  horror-stricken  in  one 
another's  pale  faces,  and  the  moment  he  had 
passed,  running  to  get  fresh  rushes,  and  to  scour 
the  stairs.  The  next  day,  Sir  Forrester  went 
into  the  wood,  and  by  the  aged  oak  he  found  a 
grave,  and  on  the  grave  he  beheld  a  beautiful 
crimson  flower ;  the  most  gorgeous  and  beauti 
ful,  surely,  that  ever  grew  ;  so  rich  it  looked,  so 
full  of  potent  juice.  That  flower  he  gathered  ; 
and  the  spirit  of  his  scientific  pursuits  coming 
upon  him,  he  knew  that  this  was  the  flower,  pro 
duced  out  of  a  human  life,  that  was  essential  to 
the  perfection  of  his  recipe  for  immortality  ;  and 
he  made  the  drink,  and  drank  it,  and  became 
immortal  in  woe  and  agony,  still  studying,  still 
growing  wiser  and  more  wretched  in  every  age. 
By  and  by  he  vanished  from  the  old  Hall,  but 
not  by  death  ;  for,  from  generation  to  genera 
tion,  they  say  that  a  bloody  track  is  seen  around 
that  house,  and  sometimes  it  is  tracked  up  into 
the  chambers,  so  freshly  that  you  see  he  must 
have  passed  a  short  time  before;  and  he  grows 
wiser  and  wiser,  and  lonelier  and  lonelier,  from 
age  to  age.  And  this  is  the  legend  of  the  bloody 
203 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

footstep,  which  I  myself  have  seen  at  the  Hall 
door.  As  to  the  flower,  the  plant  of  it  contin 
ued  for  several  years  to  grow  out  of  the  grave ; 
and  after  a  while,  perhaps  a  century  ago,  it  was 

transplanted  into  the  garden  of Hall,  and 

preserved  with  great  care,  and  is  so  still.  And 
as  the  family  attribute  a  kind  of  sacredness,  or 
cursedness,  to  the  flower,  they  can  hardly  be 
prevailed  upon  to  give  any  of  the  seeds,  or 
allow  it  to  be  propagated  elsewhere,  though  the 
king  should  send  to  ask  it.  It  is  said,  too,  that 
there  is  still  in  the  family  the  old  lord's  recipe 
for  immortality,  and  that  several  of  his  collateral 
descendants  have  tried  to  concoct  it,  and  instil 
the  flower  into  it,  and  so  give  indefinite  life  ;  but 
unsuccessfully,  because  the  seeds  of  the  flower 
must  be  planted  in  a  fresh  grave  of  bloody 
death,  in  order  to  make  it  effectual." 

So  ended  Sibyl's  legend ;  in  which  Septimius 
was  struck  by  a  certain  analogy  to  Aunt  Keziah's 
Indian  legend,  —  both  referring  to  a  flower  grow 
ing  out  of  a  grave  ;  and  also  he  did  not  fail  to 
be  impressed  with  the  wild  coincidence  of  this 
disappearance  of  an  ancestor  of  the  family  long 
ago,  and  the  appearance,  at  about  the  same 
epoch,  of  the  first  known  ancestor  of  his  own 
family,  the  man  with  wizard's  attributes,  with 
tne  bloody  footstep,  and  whose  sudden  disap 
pearance  became  a  myth,  under  the  idea  that  the 
204 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Devil  carried  him  away.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  this 
wild  tradition,  doubtless  becoming  wilder  in 
Sibyl's  wayward  and  morbid  fancy,  had  the  effect 
to  give  him  a  sense  of  the  fantasticalness  of  his 
present  pursuit,  and  that,  in  adopting  it,  he  had 
strayed  into  a  region  long  abandoned  to  super 
stition,  and  where  the  shadows  of  forgotten 
dreams  go  when  men  are  done  with  them  ;  where 
past  worships  are ;  where  great  Pan  went  when 
he  died  to  the  outer  world ;  a  limbo  into  which 
living  men  sometimes  stray  when  they  think 
themselves  sensiblest  and  wisest,  and  whence 
they  do  not  often  find  their  way  back  into  the 
real  world.  Visions  of  wealth,  visions  of  fame, 
visions  of  philanthropy,  —  all  visions  find  room 
here,  and  glide  about  without  jostling.  When 
Septimius  came  to  look  at  the  matter  in  his  pre 
sent  mood,  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  perhaps  got  into  such  a  limbo,  and  that 
Sibyl's  legend,  which  looked  so  wild,  might  be 
all  of  a  piece  with  his  own  present  life ;  for  Sibyl 
herself  seemed  an  illusion,  and  so,  most  strangely, 
did  Aunt  Keziah,  whom  he  had  known  all  his 
life,  with  her  homely  and  quaint  characteristics  ; 
the  grim  doctor,  with  his  brandy  and  his  Ger 
man  pipe,  impressed  him  in  the  same  way  :  and 
these,  altogether,  made  his  homely  cottage  by 
the  wayside  seem  an  unsubstantial  edifice,  such 
as  castles  in  the  air  are  built  of,  and  the  ground 
he  trod  on  unreal ;  and  that  grave,  which  he 
205 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

knew  to  contain  the  decay  of  a  beautiful  young 
man,  but  a  fictitious  swell  formed  by  the  fantasy 
of  his  eyes.  All  unreal ;  all  illusion  !  Was  Rose 
Garfield  a  deception  too,  with  her  daily  beauty5 
and  daily  cheerfulness,  and  daily  worth  ?  In 
short,  it  was  such  a  moment  as  I  suppose  all 
men  feel  (at  least,  I  can  answer  for  one),  when 
the  real  scene  and  picture  of  life  swims,  jars, 
shakes,  seems  about  to  be  broken  up  and  dis 
persed,  like  the  picture  in  a  smooth  pond,  when 
we  disturb  its  tranquil  mirror  by  throwing  in  a 
stone ;  and  though  the  scene  soon  settles  itself, 
and  looks  as  real  as  before,  a  haunting  doubt 
keeps  close  at  hand,  as  long  as  we  live,  asking, 
"  Is  it  stable  ?  Am  I  sure  of  it  ?  Am  I  certainly 
not  dreaming  ?  See  ;  it  trembles  again,  ready 
to  dissolve." 

Applying  himself  with  earnest  diligence  to  his 
attempt  to  decipher  and  interpret  the  mysterious 
manuscript,  working  with  his  whole  mind  and 
strength,  Septimius  did  not  fail  of  some  flatter 
ing  degree  of  success. 

A  good  deal  of  the  manuscript,  as  has  been 
said,  was  in  an  ancient  English  script,  although 
so  uncouth  and  shapeless  were  the  characters, 
that  it  was  not  easy  to  resolve  them  into  letters, 
or  to  believe  that  they  were  anything  but  arbi 
trary  and  dismal  blots  and  scrawls  upon  the  yel 
low  paper ;  without  meaning,  vague,  like  the 
206 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

misty  and  undefined  germs  of  thought  as  they 
exist  in  our  minds  before  clothing  themselves 
in  words.  These,  however,  as  he  concentrated 
his  mind  upon  them,  took  distincter  shape,  like 
cloudy  stars  at  the  power  of  the  telescope,  and 
became  sometimes  English,  sometimes  Latin, 
strangely  patched  together,  as  if,  so  accustomed 
was  the  writer  to  use  that  language  in  which  all 
the  science  of  that  age  was  usually  embodied, 
that  he  really  mixed  it  unconsciously  with  the 
vernacular,  or  used  both  indiscriminately.  There 
was  some  Greek,  too,  but  not  much.  Then  fre 
quently  came  in  the  cipher,  to  the  study  of  which 
Septimius  had  applied  himself  for  some  time 
back,  with  the  aid  of  the  books  borrowed  from 
the  college  library,  and  not  without  success.  In 
deed,  it  appeared  to  him,  on  close  observation, 
that  it  had  not  been  the  intention  of  the  writer 
really  to  conceal  what  he  had  written  from  any 
earnest  student,  but  rather  to  lock  it  up  for  safety 
in  a  sort  of  coffer,  of  which  diligence  and  insight 
should  be  the  key,  and  the  keen  intelligence 
with  which  the  meaning  was  sought  should  be 
the  test  of  the  seeker's  being  entitled  to  possess 
the  secret  treasure. 

Amid  a  great  deal  of  misty  stuff,  he  found 
the  document  to  consist  chiefly,  contrary  to  his 
supposition  beforehand,  of  certain  rules  of  life  ; 
he  would  have  taken  it,  on  a  casual  inspection, 
for  an  essay  of  counsel,  addressed  by  some  great 

207 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  sagacious  man  to  a  youth  in  whom  he  felt  an 
interest,  —  so  secure  and  good  a  doctrine  of  life 
was  propounded,  such  excellent  maxims  there 
were,  such  wisdom  in  all  matters  that  came 
within  the  writer's  purview.  It  was  as  much 
like  a  digested  synopsis  of  some  old  philoso 
pher's  wise  rules  of  conduct  as  anything  else. 
But  on  closer  inspection,  Septimius,  in  his  un 
sophisticated  consideration  of  this  matter,  was 
not  so  well  satisfied.  True,  everything  that  was 
said  seemed  not  discordant  with  the  rules  of  so 
cial  morality ;  not  unwise :  it  was  shrewd,  saga 
cious  ;  it  did  not  appear,  to  infringe  upon  the 
rights  of  mankind;  but  there  was  something  left 
out,  something  unsatisfactory,  —  what  was  it  ? 
There  was  certainly  a  cold  spell  in  the  docu 
ment  ;  a  magic,  not  of  fire,  but  of  ice  ;  and  Sep- 
timius  the  more  exemplified  its  power,  in  that 
he  soon  began  to  be  insensible  of  it.  It  af 
fected  him  as  if  it  had  been  written  by  some 
greatly  wise  and  worldly-experienced  man,  like 
the  writer  of  Ecclesiastes  ;  for  it  was  full  of 
truth.  It  was  a  truth  that  does  not  make  men 
better,  though  perhaps  calmer,  and  beneath 
which  the  buds  of  happiness  curl  up  like  tender 
leaves  in  a  frost.  What  was  the  matter  with 
this  document,  that  the  young  man's  youth 
perished  out  of  him  as  he  read  ?  What  icy 
hand  had  written  it,  so  that  the  heart  was  chilled 
out  of  the  reader  ?  Not  that  Septimius  was 
208 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

sensible  of  this  character  ;  at  least,  not  long,  — 
for  as  he  read,  there  grew  upon  him  a  mood  of 
calm  satisfaction,  such  as  he  had  never  felt 
before.  His  mind  seemed  to  grow  clearer;  his 
perceptions  most  acute ;  his  sense  of  the  reality 
of  things  grew  to  be  such,  that  he  felt  as  if  he 
could  touch  and  handle  all  his  thoughts,  feel 
round  about  all  their  outline  and  circumference, 
and  know  them  with  a  certainty,  as  if  they  were 
material  things.  Not  that  all  this  was  in  the 
document  itself;  but  by  studying  it  so  earnestly, 
and,  as  it  were,  creating  its  meaning  anew  for 
himself,  out  of  such  illegible  materials,  he 
caught  the  temper  of  the  old  writer's  mind, 
after  so  many  ages  as  that  tract  had  lain  in  the 
mouldy  and  musty  manuscript.  He  was  mag 
netized  with  him  ;  a  powerful  intellect  acted 
powerfully  upon  him  ;  perhaps,  even,  there  wras 
a  sort  of  spell  and  mystic  influence  imbued  into 
the  paper,  and  mingled  with  the  yellow  ink,  that 
steamed  forth  by  the  effort  of  this  young  man's 
earnest  rubbing,  as  it  were,  and  by  the  action 
of  his  mind,  applied  to  it  as  intently  as  he  pos 
sibly  could ;  and  even  his  handling  the  paper, 
his  bending  over  it,  and  breathing  upon  it,  had 
its  effect. 

It  is  not  in  our  power,  nor  in  our  wish,  to 

produce  the  original  form,  nor  yet  the  spirit,  of 

a  production  which  is  better  lost  to  the  world  : 

because  it  was  the  expression  of  a  human  intel- 

209 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

lect  originally  greatly  gifted  and  capable  of  high 
things,  but  gone  utterly  astray,  partly  by  its 
own  subtlety,  partly  by  yielding  to  the  tempta 
tions  of  the  lower  part  of  its  nature,  by  yielding 
the  spiritual  to  a  keen  sagacity  of  lower  things, 
until  it  was  quite  fallen ;  and  yet  fallen  in  such 
a  way,  that  it  seemed  not  only  to  itself,  but  to 
mankind,  not  fallen  at  all,  but  wise  and  good, 
and  fulfilling  all  the  ends  of  intellect  in  such  a 
life  as  ours,  and  proving,  moreover,  that  earthly 
life  was  good,  and  all  that  the  development  of 
our  nature  demanded.  All  this  is  better  for 
gotten  ;  better  burnt ;  better  never  thought 
over  again  ;  and  all  the  more,  because  its  aspect 
was  so  wise,  and  even  praiseworthy.  But  what 
we  must  preserve  of  it  were  certain  rules  cf 
life  and  moral  diet,  not  exactly  expressed  in  the 
document,  but  which,  as  it  were,  on  its  being 
duly  received  into  Septimius's  mind,  were  pre 
cipitated  from  the  rich  solution,  and  crystal 
lized  into  diamonds,  and  which  he  found  to  be 
the  moral  dietetics,  so  to  speak,  by  observing 
which  he  was  to  achieve  the  end  of  earthly  im 
mortality,  whose  physical  nostrum  was  given  in 
the  recipe  which,  with  the  help  of  Doctor  Port- 
soaken  and  his  Aunt  Keziah,  he  had  already 
pretty  satisfactorily  made  out. 

"  Keep    thy  heart   at    seventy    throbs    in    a 
minute  ;  all  more  than  that  wears  away  life  too 
quickly.      If  thy  respiration  be  too  quick,  think 
210 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

with  thyself  that  thou  hast  sinned  against  natu 
ral  order  and  moderation. 

"  Drink  not  wine  nor  strong  drink ;  and  ob 
serve  that  this  rule  is  worthiest  in  its  symbolic 
meaning. 

"  Bask  daily  in  the  sunshine  and  let  it  rest 
on  thy  heart. 

"  Run  not ;  leap  not ;  walk  at  a  steady  pace, 
and  count  thy  paces  per  day. 

"  If  thou  feelest,  at  any  time,  a  throb  of  the 
heart,  pause  on  the  instant,  and  analyze  it ;  fix 
thy  mental  eye  steadfastly  upon  it,  and  inquire 
why  such  commotion  is. 

"  Hate  not  any  man  nor  woman  ;  be  not  an 
gry,  unless  at  any  time  thy  blood  seem  a  little 
cold  and  torpid ;  cut  out  all  rankling  feelings, 
they  are  poisonous  to  thee.  If,  in  thy  waking 
moments,  or  in  thy  dreams,  thou  hast  thoughts 
of  strife  or  unpleasantness  with  any  man,  strive 
quietly  with  thyself  to  forget  him. 

"  Have  no  friendships  with  an  imperfect  man, 
with  a  man  in  bad  health,  of  violent  passions, 
of  any  characteristic  that  evidently  disturbs  his 
own  life,  and  so  may  have  disturbing  influence 
on  thine.  Shake  not  any  man  by  the  hand, 
because  thereby,  if  there  be  any  evil  in  the  man, 
it  is  likely  to  be  communicated  to  thee. 

"  Kiss  no  woman  if  her  lips  be  red;  look  not 
upon  her  if  she  be  very  fair.  Touch  not  her 
hand  if  thy  finger  tips  be  found  to  thrill  with 
211 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

hers  ever  so  little.  On  the  whole,  shun  woman, 
for  she  is  apt  to  be  a  disturbing  influence.  If 
thou  love  her,  all  is  over,  and  thy  whole  past 
and  remaining  labor  and  pains  will  be  in  vain. 

"  Do  some  decent  degree  of  good  and  kind 
ness  in  thy  daily  life,  for  the  result  is  a  slight 
pleasurable  sense  that  will  seem  to  warm  and  de- 
lectate  thee  with  felicitous  self-laudings  ;  and  all 
that  brings  thy  thoughts  to  thyself  tends  to  in 
vigorate  that  central  principle  by  the  growth  of 
which  thou  art  to  give  thyself  indefinite  life. 

"  Do  not  any  act  manifestly  evil ;  it  may 
grow  upon  thee,  and  corrode  thee  in  after  years. 
Do  not  any  foolish  good  act ;  it  may  change  thy 
wise  habits. 

"  Eat  no  spiced  meats.  Young  chickens,  new- 
fallen  lambs,  fruits,  bread  four  days  old,  milk, 
freshest  butter,  will  make  thy  fleshy  tabernacle 
youthful. 

"  From  sick  people,  maimed  wretches,  afflicted 
people,  —  all  of  whom  show  themselves  at  vari 
ance  with  things  as  they  should  be,  —  from  peo 
ple  beyond  their  wits,  from  people  in  a  melan 
cholic  mood,  from  people  in  extravagant  joy, 
from  teething  children,  from  dead  corpses,  turn 
away  thine  eyes  and  depart  elsewhere. 

"  If  beggars  haunt  thee,  let  thy  servants  drive 
them  away,  thou  withdrawing  out  of  earshot. 

"  Crying  and  sickly  children,  and  teething 
children,  as  aforesaid,  carefully  avoid.  Drink 

212 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

the  breath  of  wholesome  infants  as  often  as  thou 
conveniently  canst,  —  it  is  good  for  thy  pur 
pose  ;  also  the  breath  of  buxom  maids,  if  thou 
mayest  without  undue  disturbance  of  the  flesh, 
drink  it  as  a  morning  draught,  as  medicine ; 
also  the  breath  of  cows  as  they  return  from  rich 
pasture  at  eventide. 

"  If  thou  seest  human  poverty,  or  suffering, 
and  it  trouble  thee,  strive  moderately  to  relieve 
it,  seeing  that  thus  thy  mood  will  be  changed 
to  a  pleasant  self-laudation. 

"  Practise  thyself  in  a  certain  continual  smile, 
for  its  tendency  will  be  to  compose  thy  frame 
of  being,  and  keep  thee  from  too  much  wear. 

"  Search  not  to  see  if  thou  hast  a  gray  hair ; 
scrutinize  not  thy  forehead  to  find  a  wrinkle, 
nor  the  corners  of  thy  eyes  to  discover  if  they 
be  corrugated.  Such  things,  being  gazed  at, 
daily  take  heart  and  grow. 

"  Desire  nothing  too  fervently,  not  even  life  ; 
yet  keep  thy  hold  upon  it  mightily,  quietly, 
unshakably,  for  as  long  as  thou  really  art  re 
solved  to  live,  Death,  with  all  his  force,  shall 
have  no  power  against  thee. 

"  Walk  not  beneath  tottering  ruins,  nor 
houses  being  put  up,  nor  climb  to  the  top  of  a 
mast,  nor  approach  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  nor 
stand  in  the  way  of  the  lightning,  nor  cross  a 
swollen  river,  nor  voyage  at  sea,  nor  ride  a  skit 
tish  horse,  nor  be  shot  at  by  an  arrow,  nor  con- 
213 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

front  a  sword,  nor  put  thyself  in  the  way  of 
violent  death ;  for  this  is  hateful,  and  breaketh 
through  all  wise  rules. 

"  Say  thy  prayers  at  bedtime,  if  thou  deemest 
it  will  give  thee  quieter  sleep  ;  yet  let  it  not 
trouble  thee  if  thou  forgettest  them. 

"  Change  thy  shirt  daily  ;  thereby  thou  cast- 
est  off  yesterday's  decay,  and  imbibest  the  fresh 
ness  of  the  morning's  life,  which  enjoy  with 
smelling  to  roses  and  other  healthy  and  fra 
grant  flowers,  and  live  the  longer  for  it.  Roses 
are  made  to  that  end. 

"  Read  not  great  poets  ;  they  stir  up  thy  heart ; 
and  the  human  heart  is  a  soil  which,  if  deeply 
stirred,  is  apt  to  give  out  noxious  vapors. " 

Such  were  some  of  the  precepts  which  Sep- 
timius  gathered  and  reduced  to  definite  form  out 
of  this  wonderful  document ;  and  he  appreciated 
their  wisdom,  and  saw  clearly  that  they  must  be 
absolutely  essential  to  the  success  of  the  medi 
cine  with  which  they  were  connected.  In  them 
selves,  almost,  they  seemed  capable  of  prolong 
ing  life  to  an  indefinite  period,  so  wisely  were 
they  conceived,  so  well  did  they  apply  to  the 
causes  which  almost  invariably  wear  away  this 
poor  short  life  of  men,  years  and  years  before 
even  the  shattered  constitutions  that  they  re 
ceived  from  their  forefathers  need  compel  them 
to  die.  He  deemed  himself  well  rewarded  foi 
all  his  labor  and  pains,  should  nothing  else  fol- 
214 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

low  but  his  reception  and  proper  appreciation  of 
these  wise  rules ;  but  continually,  as  he  read  the 
manuscript,  more  truths,  and,  for  aught  I  know, 
profounder  and  more  practical  ones,  developed 
themselves ;  and,  indeed,  small  as  the  manu 
script  looked,  Septimius  thought  that  he  should 
find  a  volume  as  big  as  the  most  ponderous  folio 
in  the  college  library  too  small  to  contain  its  wis 
dom.  It  seemed  to  drip  and  distil  with  precious 
fragrant  drops,  whenever  he  took  it  out  of  his 
desk  ;  it  diffused  wisdom  like  those  vials  of  per 
fume  which,  small  as  they  look,  keep  diffusing 
an  airy  wealth  of  fragrance  for  years  and  years 
together,  scattering  their  virtue  in  incalculable 
volumes  of  invisible  vapor,  and  yet  are  none 
the  less  in  bulk  for  all  they  give ;  whenever  he 
turned  over  the  yellow  leaves,  bits  of  gold,  dia 
monds  of  good  size,  precious  pearls,  seemed  to 
drop  out  from  between  them. 

And  now  ensued  a  surprise  which,  though  of 
a  happy  kind,  was  almost  too  much  for  him  to 
bear;  for  it  made  his  heart  beat  considerably 
faster  than  the  wise  rules  of  his  manuscript  pre 
scribed.  Going  up  on  his  hilltop,  as  summer 
wore  away  (he  had  not  been  there  for  some 
time),  and  walking  by  the  little  flowery  hillock, 
as  so  many  a  hundred  times  before,  what  should 
he  see  there  but  a  new  flower,  that  during  the 
time  he  had  been  poring  over  the  manuscript 
so  sedulously  had  developed  itself,  blossomed, 
215 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

put  forth  its  petals,  bloomed  into  full  perfec 
tion,  and  now,  with  the  dew  of  the  morning 
upon  it,  was  waiting  to  offer  itself  to  Septimius  ? 
He  trembled  as  he  looked  at  it ;  it  was  too  much 
almost  to  bear,  —  it  was  so  very  beautiful,  so 
very  stately,  so  very  rich,  so  very  mysterious 
and  wonderful.  It  was  like  a  person,  like  a  life  ! 
Whence  did  it  come  ?  He  stood  apart  from  it, 
gazing  in  wonder  ;  tremulously  taking  in  its  as 
pect,  and  thinking  of  the  legends  he  had  heard 
from  Aunt  Keziah  and  from  Sibyl  Dacy ;  and 
how  that  this  flower,  like  the  one  that  their  wild 
traditions  told  of,  had  grown  out  of  a  grave,  — 
out  of  a  grave  in  which  he  had  laid  one  slain  by 
himself. 

The  flower  was  of  the  richest  crimson,  illu 
minated  with  a  golden  centre  of  a  perfect  and 
stately  beauty.  From  the  best  descriptions  that 
I  have  been  able  to  gain  of  it,  it  was  more  like 
a  dahlia  than  any  other  flower  with  which  I  have 
acquaintance ;  yet  it  does  not  satisfy  me  to  be 
lieve  it  really  of  that  species,  for  the  dahlia  is 
not  a  flower  of  any  deep  characteristics,  either 
lively  or  malignant,  and  this  flower,  which  Sep 
timius  found  so  strangely,  seems  to  have  had 
one  or  the  other.  If  I  have  rightly  understood, 
it  had  a  fragrance  which  the  dahlia  lacks  ;  and 
there  was  something  hidden  in  its  centre,  a  mys 
tery,  even  in  its  fullest  bloom,  not  developing 
itself  so  openly  as  the  heartless,  yet  not  dishon- 
216 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

est,  dahlia.  I  remember  in  England  to  have 
seen  a  flower  at  Eaton  Hall,  in  Cheshire,  in 
those  magnificent  gardens,  which  may  have  been 
like  this,  but  my  remembrance  of  it  is  not  suf 
ficiently  distinct  to  enable  me  to  describe  it  bet 
ter  than  by  saying  that  it  was  crimson,  with  a 
gleam  of  gold  in  its  centre,  which  yet  was  partly 
hidden.  It  had  many  petals  of  great  rich 
ness. 

Septimius,  bending  eagerly  over  the  plant, 
saw  that  this  was  not  to  be  the  only  flower  that 
it  would  produce  that  season  ;  on  the  contrary, 
there  was  to  be  a  great  abundance  of  them,  a 
luxuriant  harvest ;  as  if  the  crimson  offspring 
of  this  one  plant  would  cover  the  whole  hillock, 
—  as  if  the  dead  youth  beneath  had  burst  into 
a  resurrection  of  many  crimson  flowers  !  And 
in  its  veiled  heart,  moreover,  there  was  a  mys 
tery  like  death,  although  it  seemed  to  cover 
something  bright  and  golden. 

Day  after  day  the  strange  crimson  flower 
bloomed  more  and  more  abundantly,  until  it 
seemed  almost  to  cover  the  little  hillock,  which 
became  a  mere  bed  of  it,  apparently  turning  all 
its  capacity  of  production  to  this  flower;  for 
the  other  plants,  Septimius  thought,  seemed  to 
shrink  away,  and  give  place  to  it,  as  if  they 
were  unworthy  to  compare  with  the  richness, 
the  glory,  and  worth  of  this  their  queen.  The 
fervent  summer  burned  into  it,  the  dew  and 
217 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

the  rain  ministered  to  it ;  the  soil  was  rich,  for 
it  was  a  human  heart  contributing  its  juices,  — 
a  heart  in  its  fiery  youth  sodden  in  its  own 
blood,  so  that  passion,  unsatisfied  loves  and 
longings,  ambition  that  never  won  its  object, 
tender  dreams  and  throbs,  angers,  lusts,  hates, 
all  concentrated  by  life,  came  sprouting  in  it, 
and  its  mysterious  being,  and  streaks  and  shad 
ows,  had  some  meaning  in  each  of  them. 

The  two  girls,  when  they  next  ascended  the 
hill,  saw  the  strange  flower,  and  Rose  admired 
it,  and  wondered  at  it,  but  stood  at  a  distance, 
without  showing  an  attraction  towards  it,  rather 
an  undefined  aversion,  as  if  she  thought  it 
might  be  a  poison  flower ;  at  any  rate,  she 
would  not  be  inclined  to  wear  it  in  her  bosom. 
Sibyl  Dacy  examined  it  closely,  touched  its 
leaves,  smelt  it,  looked  at  it  with  a  botanist's 
eye,  and  at  last  remarked  to  Rose,  "  Yes,  it 
grows  well  in  this  new  soil ;  methinks  it  looks 
like  a  new  human  life." 

"  What  is  the  strange  flower  ?  "  asked  Rose. 

"  The  Sanguinea  sanguinissima"  said  Sibyl. 

It  so  happened  about  this  time  that  poor 
Aunt  Keziah,  in  spite  of  her  constant  use  of 
that  bitter  mixture  of  hers,  was  in  a  very  bad 
state  of  health.  She  looked  all  of  an  unplea 
sant  yellow,  with  bloodshot  eyes ;  she  com 
plained  terribly  of  her  inwards.  She  had  an 
ugly  rheumatic  hitch  in  her  motion  from  place 
218 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

to  place,  and  was  heard  to  mutter  many  wishes 
that  she  had  a  broomstick  to  fly  about  upon, 
and  she  used  to  bind  up  her  head  with  a  dish- 
clout,  or  what  looked  to  be  such,  and  would 
sit  by  the  kitchen  fire  even  in  the  warm  days, 
bent  over  it,  crouching  as  if  she  wanted  to  take 
the  whole  fire  into  her  poor  cold  heart  or  giz 
zard,  —  groaning  regularly  with  each  breath  a 
spiteful  and  resentful  groan,  as  if  she  fought 
womanfully  with  her  infirmities  ;  and  she  con 
tinually  smoked  her  pipe,  and  sent  out  the 
breath  of  her  complaint  visibly  in  that  evil 
odor ;  and  sometimes  she  murmured  a  little 
prayer,  but  somehow  or  other  the  evil  and  bit 
terness,  acridity,  pepperiness,  of  her  natural 
disposition  overcame  the  acquired  grace  which 
compelled  her  to  pray,  insomuch  that,  after  all, 
you  would  have  thought  the  poor  old  woman 
was  cursing  with  all  her  rheumatic  might.  All 
the  time  an  old,  broken-nosed,  brown  earthen 
jug,  covered  with  the  lid  of  a  black  teapot, 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  embers,  steaming  for 
ever,  and  sometimes  bubbling  a  little,  and 
giving  a  great  puff,  as  if  it  were  sighing  and 
groaning  in  sympathy  with  poor  Aunt  Keziah, 
and  when  it  sighed  there  came  a  great  steam 
of  herby  fragrance,  not  particularly  pleasant, 
into  the  kitchen.  And  ever  and  anon,  —  half 
a  dozen  times  it  might  be,  —  of  an  afternoon. 
Aunt  Keziah  took  a  certain  bottle  from  a  pri- 
219 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

vate  receptacle  of  hers,  and  also  a  teacup,  and 
likewise  a  little,  old-fashioned  silver  teaspoon, 
with  which  she  measured  three  teaspoonfuls  of 
some  spirituous  liquor  into  the  teacup,  half 
filled  the  cup  with  the  hot  decoction,  drank  it 
off,  gave  a  grunt  of  content,  and  for  the  space 
of  half  an  hour  appeared  to  find  life  tolerable. 

But  one  day  poor  Aunt  Keziah  found  her 
self  unable,  partly  from  rheumatism,  partly 
from  other  sickness  or  weakness,  and  partly 
from  dolorous  ill  spirits,  to  keep  about  any 
longer,  so  she  betook  herself  to  her  bed ;  and 
betimes  in  the  forenoon  Septimius  heard  a  tre 
mendous  knocking  on  the  floor  of  her  bed 
chamber,  which  happened  to  be  the  room  above 
his  own.  He  was  the  only  person  in  or  about 
the  house ;  so  with  great  reluctance  he  left  his 
studies,  which  were  upon  the  recipe,  in  respect 
to  which  he  was  trying  to  make  out  the  mode 
of  concoction,  which  was  told  in  such  a  myste 
rious  way  that  he  could  not  well  tell  either  the 
quantity  of  the  ingredients,  the  mode  of  tritu- 
ration,  nor  in  what  way  their  virtue  was  to  be 
extracted  and  combined. 

Running  hastily  upstairs,  he  found  Aunt 
Keziah  lying  in  bed,  and  groaning  with  great 
spite  and  bitterness ;  so  that,  indeed,  it  seemed 
not  improvidential  that  such  an  inimical  state 
of  mind  towards  the  human  race  was  accompa 
nied  with  an  almost  inability  of  motion,  else  it 
220 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

would  not  be  safe  to  be  within  a  considerable 
distance  of  her. 

"  Seppy,  you  good-for-nothing,  are  you  go 
ing  to  see  me  lying  here,  dying,  without  trying 
to  do  anything  for  me?  " 

"  Dying,  Aunt  Keziah  ?  "  repeated  the  young 
man.  "  I  hope  not !  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? 
Shall  I  go  for  Rose?  or  call  a  neighbor  in?  or 
the  doctor?  " 

"  No,  no,  you  fool !  "  said  the  afflicted  per 
son.  "  You  can  do  all  that  anybody  can  for 
me :  and  that  is  to  put  my  mixture  on  the 
kitchen  fire  till  it  steams,  and  is  just  ready  to 
bubble;  then  measure  three  teaspoonfuls  —  or 
it  may  be  four,  as  I  am  very  bad  —  of  spirit 
into  a  teacup,  fill  it  half  full,  —  or  it  may  be 
quite  full,  for  I  am  very  bad,  as  I  said  afore ; 
six  teaspoonfuls  of  spirit  into  a  cup  of  mixture, 
and  let  me  have  it  as  soon  as  may  be ;  and 
don't  break  the  cup,  nor  spill  the  precious  mix 
ture,  for  goodness  knows  when  I  can  go  into 
the  woods  to  gather  any  more.  Ah  me  !  ah 
me  !  it  's  a  wicked,  miserable  world,  and  I  am 
the  most  miserable  creature  in  it.  Be  quick, 
you  good-for-nothing,  and  do  as  I  say  !  " 

Septimius  hastened  down  ;  but  as  he  went  a 
thought  came  into  his  head,  which  it  occurred 
to  him  might  result  in  great  benefit  to  Aunt 
Keziah,  as  well  as  to  the  great  cause  of  science 
and  human  good,  and  to  the  promotion  of  his 

221 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

own  purpose,  in  the  first  place.  A  day  or  two 
ago,  he  had  gathered  several  of  the  beautiful 
flowers,  and  laid  them  in  the  fervid  sun  to  dry ; 
and  they  now  seemed  to  be  in  about  the  state 
in  which  the  old  woman  was  accustomed  to  use 
her  herbs,  so  far  as  Septimius  had  observed. 
Now  if  these  flowers  were  really,  as  there  was 
so  much  reason  for  supposing,  the  one  ingre 
dient  that  had  for  hundreds  of  years  been  miss 
ing  out  of  Aunt  Keziah's  nostrum,  —  if  it  was 
this  which  that  strange  Indian  sagamore  had 
mingled  with  his  drink  with  such  beneficial 
effect,  —  why  should  not  Septimius  now  re 
store  it,  and  if  it  would  not  make  his  beloved 
aunt  young  again,  at  least  assuage  the  violent 
symptoms,  and  perhaps  prolong  her  valuable 
life  some  years,  for  the  solace  and  delight  of 
her  numerous  friends  ?  Septimius,  like  other 
people  of  investigating  and  active  minds,  had  a 
great  tendency  to  experiment,  and  so  good  an 
opportunity  as  the  present,  where  (perhaps  he 
thought)  there  was  so  little  to  be  risked  at 
worst,  and  so  much  to  be  gained,  was  not  to 
be  neglected ;  so,  without  more  ado,  he  stirred 
three  of  the  crimson  flowers  into  the  earthen 
jug,  set  it  on  the  edge  of  the  fire,  stirred  it 
well,  and  when  it  steamed,  threw  up  little  scar 
let  bubbles,  and  was  about  to  boil,  he  measured 
out  the  spirits,  as  Aunt  Keziah  had  bidden 
him,  and  then  filled  the  teacup. 
222 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  Ah,  this  will  do  her  good  ;  little  does  she 
think,  poor  old  thing,  what  a  rare  and  costly 
medicine  is  about  to  be  given  her.  This  will 
set  her  on  her  feet  again." 

The  hue  was  somewhat  changed,  he  thought, 
from  what  he  had  observed  of  Aunt  Keziah's 
customary  decoction  ;  instead  of  a  turbid  yellow, 
the  crimson  petals  of  the  flower  had  tinged  it, 
and  made  it  almost  red  ;  not  a  brilliant  red, 
however,  nor  the  least  inviting  in  appearance. 
Septimius  smelt  it,  and  thought  he  could  distin 
guish  a  little  of  the  rich  odor  of  the  flower,  but 
was  not  sure.  He  considered  whether  to  taste 
it ;  but  the  horrible  flavor  of  Aunt  Keziah's  de 
coction  recurred  strongly  to  his  remembrance, 
and  he  concluded  that  were  he  evidently  at  the 
point  of  death,  he  might  possibly  be  bold  enough 
to  taste  it  again  ;  but  that  nothing  short  of  the 
hope  of  a  century's  existence  at  least  would  re 
pay  another  taste  of  that  fierce  and  nauseous 
bitterness.  Aunt  Keziah  loved  it ;  and  as  she 
brewed,  so  let  her  drink. 

He  went  upstairs,  careful  not  to  spill  a  drop 
of  the  brimming  cup,  and  approached  the  old 
woman's  bedside,  where  she  lay,  groaning  as 
before,  and  breaking  out  into  a  spiteful  croak 
the  moment  he  was  within  earshot. 

"  You  don't  care  whether  I  live  or  die,"  said 
she.     "  You  've  been  waiting  in  hopes  I  shall 
die,  and  so  save  yourself  further  trouble." 
223 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  By  no  means.  Aunt  Keziah,"  said  Septi- 
mius.  "  Here  is  the  medicine,  which  I  have 
warmed,  and  measured  out,  and  mingled,  as  well 
as  I  knew  how  ;  and  I  think  it  will  do  you  a 
great  deal  of  good/' 

"  Won't  you  taste  it,  Seppy,  my  dear  ?  "  said 
Aunt  Keziah,  mollified  by  the  praise  of  her  be 
loved  mixture.  "  Drink  first,  dear,  so  that  my 
sick  old  lips  need  not  taint  it.  You  look  pale, 
Septimius  ;  it  will  do  you  good." 

"  No,  Aunt  Keziah,  I  do  not  need  it ;  and 
it  were  a  pity  to  waste  your  precious  drink," 
said  he. 

"  It  does  not  look  quite  the  right  color,"  said 
Aunt  Keziah,  as  she  took  the  cup  in  her  hand. 
"  You  must  have  dropped  some  soot  into  it." 
Then,  as  she  raised  it  to  her  lips,  "It  does  not 
smell  quite  right.  But,  woe  's  me  !  how  can  I 
expect  anybody  but  myself  to  make  this  pre 
cious  drink  as  it  should  be  ?  " 

She  drank  it  off  at  two  gulps  ;  for  she  ap 
peared  to  hurry  it  off  faster  than  usual,  as  if  not 
tempted  by  the  exquisiteness  of  its  flavor  to 
dwell  upon  it  so  long. 

"  You  have  not  made  it  just  right,  Seppy," 
said  she  in  a  milder  tone  than  before,  for  she 
seemed  to  feel  the  customary  soothing  influence 
of  the  draught,  "  but  you  '11  do  better  the  next 
time.  It  had  a  queer  taste,  methought;  or  is  it 
that  my  mouth  is  getting  out  of  taste  ?  Hard 
224 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

times  it  will  be  for  poor  Aunt  Kezzy,  if  she  's 
to  lose  her  taste  for  the  medicine  that,  under 
Providence,  has  saved  her  life  for  so  many 
years." 

She  gave  back  the  cup  to  Septimius,  after 
looking  a  little  curiously  at  the  dregs. 

"  It  looks  like  bloodroot,  don't  it  ?  "  said  she. 
"  Perhaps  it 's  my  own  fault  after  all.  I  gathered 
a  fresh  bunch  of  the  yarbs  yesterday  afternoon, 
and  put  them  to  steep,  and  it  may  be  I  was  a 
little  blind,  for  it  was  between  daylight  and  dark, 
and  the  moon  shone  on  me  before  I  had  fin 
ished.  I  thought  how  the  witches  used  to  gather 
their  poisonous  stuff  at  such  times,  and  what 
pleasant  uses  they  made  of  it,  —  but  those  are 
sinful  thoughts,  Seppy,  sinful  thoughts  !  so  I  '11 
say  a  prayer  and  try  to  go  to  sleep.  I  feel  very 
noddy  all  at  once." 

Septimius  drew  the  bedclothes  up  about  her 
shoulders,  for  she  complained  of  being  very 
chilly,  and,  carefully  putting  her  stick  within 
reach,  went  down  to  his  own  room,  and  resumed 
his  studies,  trying  to  make  out  from  those  aged 
hieroglyphics,  to  which  he  was  now  so  well  ac 
customed,  what  was  the  precise  method  of  mak 
ing  the  elixir  of  immortality.  Sometimes,  as 
men  in  deep  thought  do,  he  rose  from  his  chair, 
and  walked  to  and  fro  the  four  or  five  steps  or 
so  that  conveyed  him  from  end  to  end  of  his 
little  room.  At  one  of  these  times  he  chanced 

225 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

to  look  in  the  little  looking-glass  that  hung  be 
tween  the  windows,  and  was  startled  at  the  pale 
ness  of  his  face.  It  was  quite  white,  indeed. 
Septimius  was  not  in  the  least  a  foppish  young 
man  ;  careless  he  was  in  dress,  though  often  his 
apparel  took  an  unsought  picturesqueness  that 
set  off  his  slender,  agile  figure,  perhaps  from 
some  quality  of  spontaneous  arrangement  that 
he  had  inherited  from  his  Indian  ancestry.  Yet 
many  women  might  have  found  a  charm  in  that 
dark,  thoughtful  face,  with  its  hidden  fire  and 
energy,  although  Septimius  never  thought  of  its 
being  handsome,  and  seldom  looked  at  it.  Yet 
now  he  was  drawn  to  it  by  seeing  how  strangely 
white  it  was,  and,  gazing  at  it,  he  observed  that 
since  he  considered  it  last,  a  very  deep  furrow, 
or  corrugation,  or  fissure,  it  might  almost  be 
called,  had  indented  his  brow,  rising  from  the 
commencement  of  his  nose  towards  the  centre 
of  the  forehead.  And  he  knew  it  was  his  brood 
ing  thought,  his  fierce,  hard  determination,  his 
intense  concentrativeness  for  so  many  months, 
that  had  been  digging  that  furrow ;  and  it  must 
prove  indeed  a  potent  specific  of  the  life  water 
that  would  smooth  that  away,  and  restore  him 
all  the  youth  and  elasticity  that  he  had  buried 
in  that  profound  grave. 

But  why  was  he   so  pale  ?     He  could  have 
supposed  himself  startled  by  some  ghastly  thing 
that  he  had  just  seen  ;  by  a  corpse  in  the  next 
226 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

room,  for  instance  ;  or  else  by  the  foreboding 
that  one  would  soon  be  there  ;  but  yet  he  was 
conscious  of  no  tremor  in  his  frame,  no  terror 
in  his  heart;  as  why  should  there  be  any  ?  Feel 
ing  his  own  pulse,  he  found  the  strong,  regular 
beat  that  should  be  there.  He  was  not  ill,  nor 
affrighted ;  not  expectant  of  any  pain.  Then 
why  so  ghastly  pale  ?  And  why,  moreover,  Sep- 
timius,  did  you  listen  so  earnestly  for  any  sound 
in  Aunt  Keziah's  chamber  P  Why  did  you  creep 
on  tiptoe,  once,  twice,  three  times,  up  to  the  old 
woman's  chamber,  and  put  your  ear  to  the  key 
hole,  and  listen  breathlessly  ?  Well,  it  must  have 
been  that  he  was  subconscious  that  he  was  try 
ing  a  bold  experiment,  and  that  he  had  taken 
this  poor  old  woman  to  be  the  medium  of  it,  in 
the  hope,  of  course,  that  it  would  turn  out  well ; 
yet  with  other  views  than  her  interest  in  the 
matter.  WThat  was  the  harm  of  that  ?  Medi 
cal  men,  no  doubt,  are  always  doing  so,  and  he 
was  a  medical  man  for  the  time.  Then  why  was 
he  so  pale  ? 

He  sat  down  and  fell  into  a  reverie,  which 
was  partly  suggested  by  that  chief  furrow  which 
he  had  seen,  and  which  we  have  spoken  of,  in 
his  brow.  He  considered  whether  there  was 
anything  in  this  pursuit  of  his  that  used  up  life 
particularly  fast  ;  so  that,  perhaps,  unless  he 
were  successful  soon,  he  should  be  incapable  of 
renewal ;  for,  looking  within  himself,  and  con- 
227 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

sidering  his  mode  of  being,  he  had  a  singular 
fancy  that  his  heart  was  gradually  drying  up, 
and  that  he  must  continue  to  get  some  mois 
ture  for  it,  or  else  it  would  soon  be  like  a  with 
ered  leaf.  Supposing  his  pursuit  were  vain,  what 
a  waste  he  was  making  of  that  little  treasure  of 
golden  days,  which  was  his  all  !  Could  this  be 
called  life,  which  he  was  leading  now  ?  How 
unlike  that  of  other  young  men  !  How  unlike 
that  of  Robert  Hagburn,  for  example  !  There 
had  come  news  yesterday  of  his  having  per 
formed  a  gallant  part  in  the  battle  of  Mon- 
mouth,  and  being  promoted  to  be  a  captain  for 
his  brave  conduct.  Without  thinking  of  long 
life,  he  really  lived  in  heroic  actions  and  emo 
tions  ;  he  got  much  life  in  a  little,  and  did  not 
fear  to  sacrifice  a  lifetime  of  torpid  breaths,  if 
necessary,  to  the  ecstasy  of  a  glorious  death  ! 

[It  appears  from  a  written  sketch  by  the  author 
of  this  story  ^  that  he  changed  his  first  plan  of  mak 
ing  Septimius  and  Rose  lovers,  and  she  was  to  be 
represented  as  his  half-sister ',  and  in  the  copy  for 
publication  this  alteration  would  have  been  made. 
—  ED.] 

And  then  Robert  loved,  too,  loved  his  sister 
Rose,  and  felt,  doubtless,  an  immortality  in  that 
passion.  Why  could  not  Septimius  love  too  ? 
It  was  forbidden  !  Well,  no  matter;  whom 
could  he  have  loved  ?  Who  in  all  this  world 
would  have  been  suited  to  his  secret,  brooding 
228 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

heart,  that  he  could  have  let  her  into  its  myste 
rious  chambers,  and  walked  with  her  from  one 
cavernous  gloom  to  another,  and  said,  "  Here 
are  my  treasures.  I  make  thee  mistress  of  all 
these ;  with  all  these  goods  I  thee  endow."  And 
then,  revealing  to  her  his  great  secret  and  pur 
pose  of  gaining  immortal  life,  have  said  :  "  This 
shall  be  thine,  too.  Thou  shalt  share  with  me. 
We  will  walk  along  the  endless  path  together, 
and  keep  one  another's  hearts  warm,  and  so  be 
content  to  live." 

Ah,  Septimius  !  but  now  you  are  getting  be 
yond  those  rules  of  yours,  which,  cold  as  they 
are,  have  been  drawn  out  of  a  subtle  philosophy, 
and  might,  were  it  possible  to  follow  them  out, 
suffice  to  do  all  that  you  ask  of  them  ;  but  if 
you  break  them,  you  do  it  at  the  peril  of  your 
earthly  immortality.  Each  warmer  and  quicker 
throb  of  the  heart  wears  away  so  much  of  life. 
The  passions,  the  affections,  are  a  wine  not  to 
be  indulged  in.  Love,  above  all,  being  in  its 
essence  an  immortal  thing,  cannot  be  long  con 
tained  in  an  earthly  body,  but  would  wear  it  out 
with  its  own  secret  power,  softly  invigorating  as 
it  seems.  You  must  be  cold,  therefore,  Septi 
mius  ;  you  must  not  even  earnestly  and  passion 
ately  desire  this  immortality  that  seems  so  neces 
sary  to  you.  Else  the  very  wish  will  prevent 
the  possibility  of  its  fulfilment. 

By  and  by,  to  call  him  out  of  these  rhapso- 
229 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

dies,  came  Rose  home ;  and  finding  the  kitchen 
hearth  cold,  and  Aunt  Keziah  missing,  and  no 
dinner  by  the  fire,  which  was  smouldering, — 
nothing  but  the  portentous  earthen  jug,  which 
fumed,  and  sent  out  long,  ill-flavored  sighs,  — 
she  tapped  at  Septimius's  door,  and  asked  him 
what  was  the  matter. 

"  Aunt  Keziah  has  had  an  ill  turn,"  said  Sep- 
timius,  "and  has  gone  to  bed." 

"  Poor  auntie !  "  said  Rose,  with  her  quick 
sympathy.  "  I  will  this  moment  run  up  and 
see  if  she  needs  anything." 

"  No,  Rose,"  said  Septimius,  "  she  has  doubt 
less  gone  to  sleep,  and  will  awake  as  well  as 
usual.  It  would  displease  her  much  were  you 
to  miss  your  afternoon  school ;  so  you  had  bet 
ter  set  the  table  with  whatever  there  is  left  of 
yesterday's  dinner,  and  leave  me  to  take  care  of 


auntie." 


"  Well,"  said  Rose,  "  she  loves  you  best ;  but 
if  she  be  really  ill,  I  shall  give  up  my  school  and 
nurse  her." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Septimius,  "  she  will  be 
about  the  house  again  to-morrow." 

So  Rose  ate  her  frugal  dinner  (consisting 
chiefly  of  purslain,  and  some  other  garden  herbs, 
which  her  thrifty  aunt  had  prepared  for  boiling), 
and  went  away  as  usual  to  her  school ;  for  Aunt 
Keziah,  as  aforesaid,  had  never  encouraged  the 
230 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tender  ministrations  of  Rose,  whose  orderly, 
womanly  character,  with  its  well-defined  orb  of 
daily  and  civilized  duties,  had  always  appeared 
to  strike  her  as  tame  ;  and  she  once  said  to  her, 
"  You  are  no  squaw,  child,  and  you  '11  never 
make  a  witch."  Nor  would  she  even  so  much 
as  let  Rose  put  her  tea  to  steep,  or  do  anything 
whatever  for  herself  personally  ;  though,  cer 
tainly,  she  was  not  backward  in  requiring  of  her 
a  due  share  of  labor  for  the  general  housekeep 
ing. 

Septimius  was  sitting  in  his  room,  as  the  after 
noon  wore  away  ;  because,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  or,  quite  as  likely,  for  no  reason  at  all,  he 
did  not  air  himself  and  his  thoughts,  as  usual, 
on  the  hill  ;  so  he  was  sitting  musing,  thinking, 
looking  into  his  mysterious  manuscript,  when 
he  heard  Aunt  Keziah  moving  in  the  chamber 
above.  First  she  seemed  to  rattle  a  chair  ;  then 
she  began  a  slow,  regular  beat  with  the  stick 
which  Septimius  had  left  by  her  bedside,  and 
which  startled  him  strangely,  —  so  that,  indeed, 
his  heart  beat  faster  than  the  five-and-seventy 
throbs  to  which  he  was  restricted  by  the  wise 
rules  that  he  had  digested.  So  he  ran  hastily 
upstairs,  and  behold,  Aunt  Keziah  was  sitting 
up  in  bed,  looking  very  wild, —  so  wild  that  you 
would  have  thought  she  was  going  to  fly  up 
chimney  the  next  minute  ;  her  gray  hair  all 
231 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

dishevelled,  her  eyes  staring,  her  hands  clutch 
ing  forward,  while  she  gave  a  sort  of  howl,  what 
with  pain  and  agitation. 

"  Seppy  !  Seppy  1  "  said  she,  —  "  Seppy,  my 
darling  !  are  you  quite  sure  you  remember  how 
to  make  that  precious  drink  ?  " 

(f  Quite  well,  Aunt  Keziah,"  said  Septimius, 
inwardly  much  alarmed  by  her  aspect,  but  pre 
serving  a  true  Indian  composure  of  outward 
mien.  "  I  wrote  it  down,  and  could  say  it  by 
heart  besides.  Shall  I  make  you  a  fresh  pot  of 
it?  for  I  have  thrown  away  the  other." 

"  That  was  well,  Seppy,"  said  the  poor  old 
woman,  "  for  there  is  something  wrong  about  it ; 
but  I  want  no  more,  for,  Seppy,  dear,  I  am  going 
fast  out  of  this  world,  where  you  and  that  pre 
cious  drink  were  my  only  treasures  and  comforts. 
I  wanted  to  know  if  you  remembered  the  re 
cipe  ;  it  is  all  I  have  to  leave  you,  and  the  more 
you  drink  of  it,  Seppy,  the  better.  Only  see 
to  make  it  right  !  " 

"  Dear  auntie,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ? "  said 
Septimius,  in  much  consternation,  but  still  calm. 
"  Let  me  run  for  the  doctor,  —  for  the  neigh 
bors  ?  Something  must  be  done  !  " 

The  old  woman  contorted  herself  as  if  there 
were  a  fearful  time  in  her  insides ;  and  grinned, 
and  twisted  the  yellow  ugliness  of  her  face,  and 
groaned,  and  howled  ;  and  yet  there  was  a  tough 
and  fierce  kind  of  endurance  with  which  she 
232 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

fought  with  her  anguish,  and  would  not  yield  to 
it  a  jot,  though  she  allowed  herself  the  relief 
of  shrieking  savagely  at  it,  —  much  more  like  a 
defiance  than  a  cry  for  mercy. 

"  No  doctor  !  no  woman  ! "  said  she ;  "  if 
my  drink  could  not  save  me,  what  would  a 
doctor's  foolish  pills  and  powders  do  ?  And 
a  woman  !  If  old  Martha  Denton,  the  witch, 
were  alive,  I  would  be  glad  to  see  her.  But 
other  women!  Pah!  Ah!  Ai !  O!  Phew! 
Ah,  Seppy,  what  a  mercy  it  would  be  now  if  I 
could  set  to  and  blaspheme  a  bit,  and  shake  my 
fist  at  the  sky  !  But  I  'm  a  Christian  woman, 
Seppy,  —  a  Christian  woman." 

"  Shall  I  send  for  the  minister,  Aunt  Keziah  ?  " 
asked  Septimius.  "He  is  a  good  man,  and  a 
wise  one." 

"  No  minister  for  me,  Seppy,"  said  Aunt 
Keziah,  howling  as  if  somebody  were  choking 
her.  "  He  may  be  a  good  man,  and  a  wise  one, 
but  he  's  not  w^ise  enough  to  know  the  way  to 
my  heart,  and  never  a  man  as  was  !  Eh,  Seppy, 
I  'm  a  Christian  woman,  but  I  'm  not  like  other 
Christian  women  ;  and  I  'm  glad  I  'm  going 
away  from  this  stupid  \vorld.  I  Ve  not  been  a 
bad  woman,  and  I  deserve  credit  for  it,  for  it 
would  have  suited  me  a  great  deal  better  to  be 
bad.  O,  what  a  delightful  time  a  witch  must 
have  had,  starting  offup  chimney  on  her  broom 
stick  at  midnight,  and  looking  down  from  aloft 
233 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

in  the  sky  on  the  sleeping  village  far  below,  with 
its  steeple  pointing  up  at  her,  so  that  she  might 
touch  the  golden  weathercock  !  You,  mean 
while,  in  such  an  ecstasy,  and  all  below  you 
the  dull,  innocent,  sober  humankind  :  the  wife 
sleeping  by  her  husband,  or  mother  by  her 
child,  squalling  with  wind  in  its  stomach ;  the 
goodman  driving  up  his  cattle  and  his  plough, 
—  all  so  innocent,  all  so  stupid,  with  their  dull 
days  just  alike,  one  after  another.  And  you  up 
in  the  air,  sweeping  away  to  some  nook  in  the 
forest !  Ha  !  What 's  that  ?  A  wizard  !  Ha  ! 
ha  !  Known  below  as  a  deacon  !  There  is 
Goody  Chickering  !  How  quietly  she  sent  the 
young  people  to  bed  after  prayers  !  There  is 
an  Indian  ;  there  a  nigger;  they  all  have  equal 
rights  and  privileges  at  a  witch  meeting.  Phew! 
the  wind  blows  cold  up  here !  Why  does  not 
the  Black  Man  have  the  meeting  at  his  own 
kitchen  hearth  ?  Ho  !  ho  !  O  dear  me!  But 
I  'm  a  Christian  woman  and  no  witch  ;  but  those 
must  have  been  gallant  times !  " 

Doubtless  it  was  a  partial  wandering  of  the 
mind  that  took  the  poor  old  woman  away  on 
this  old-witch  flight ;  and  it  was  very  curious 
and  pitiful  to  witness  the  compunction  with 
which  she  returned  to  herself  and  took  herself 
to  task  for  the  preference  which,  in  her  wild 
nature,  she  could  not  help  giving  to  harum- 
scarum  wickedness  over  tame  goodness.  Now 
234 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

she  tried  to  compose  herself,  and  talk  reason 
ably  and  godly. 

"  Ah,  Septimius,  my  dear  child,  never  give 
way  to  temptation,  nor  consent  to  be  a  wizard, 
though  the  Black  Man  persuade  you  ever  so 
hard.  I  know  he  will  try.  He  has  tempted 
me,  but  I  never  yielded,  never  gave  him  his 
will ;  and  never  do  you,  my  boy,  though  you, 
with  your  dark  complexion,  and  your  brooding 
brow,  and  your  eye  veiled,  only  when  it  sud 
denly  looks  out  with  a  flash  of  fire  in  it,  are  the 
sort  of  man  he  seeks  most,  and  that  afterwards 
serves  him.  But  don't  do  it,  Septimius.  But 
if  you  could  be  an  Indian,  methinks  it  would 
be  better  than  this  tame  life  we  lead.  'T  would 
have  been  better  for  me,  at  all  events.  O,  how 
pleasant  't  would  have  been  to  spend  my  life 
wandering  in  the  woods,  smelling  the  pines  and 
the  hemlock  all  day,  and  fresh  things  of  all 
kinds,  and  no  kitchen  work  to  do,  —  not  to  rake 
up  the  fire,  nor  sweep  the  room,  nor  make  the 
beds,  —  but  to  sleep  on  fresh  boughs  in  a  wig 
wam,  with  the  leaves  still  on  the  branches  that 
made  the  roof!  And  then  to  see  the  deer 
brought  in  by  the  red  hunter,  and  the  blood 
streaming  from  the  arrow  dart  !  Ah !  and  the 
fight  too  !  and  the  scalping  !  and,  perhaps,  a 
w^oman  might  creep  into  the  battle,  and  steal 
the  wounded  enemy  away  of  her  tribe  and  scalp 
him,  and  be  praised  for  it !  O  Seppy,  how  I  hate 
235 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

the  thought  of  the  dull  life  women  lead !  A 
white  woman's  life  is  so  dull  !  Thank  Heaven, 
I  'm  done  with  it !  If  I  'm  ever  to  live  again, 
may  I  be  whole  Indian,  please  my  Maker  !  " 

After  this  goodly  outburst,  Aunt  Keziah  lay 
quietly  for  a  few  moments,  and  her  skinny  claws 
being  clasped  together,  and  her  yellow  visage 
grinning,  as  pious  an  aspect  as  was  attainable  by 
her  harsh  and  pain-distorted  features,  Septimius 
perceived  that  she  was  in  prayer.  And  so  it 
proved  by  what  followed,  for  the  old  woman 
turned  to  him  with  a  grim  tenderness  on  her 
face,  and  stretched  out  her  hand  to  be  taken  in 
his  own.  He  clasped  the  bony  talon  in  both 
his  hands. 

"  Seppy,  my  dear,  I  feel  a  great  peace,  and  I 
don't  think  there  is  so  very  much  to  trouble  me 
in  the  other  world.  It  won't  be  all  housework, 
and  keeping  decent,  and  doing  like  other  people 
there.  I  suppose  I  need  n't  expect  to  ride  on 
a  broomstick,  —  that  would  be  wrong  in  any 
kind  of  a  world,  —  but  there  may  be  woods  to 
wander  in,  and  a  pipe  to  smoke  in  the  air  of 
heaven  ;  trees  to  hear  the  wind  in,  and  to  smell 
of,  and  all  such  natural,  happy  things  ;  and  by 
and  by  I  shall  hope  to  see  you  there,  Seppy,  my 
darling  boy  !  Come  by  and  by;  't  is  n't  worth 
your  while  to  live  forever,  even  if  you  should 
find  out  what 's  wanting  in  the  drink  I  Ve  taught 
you.  I  can  see  a  little  way  into  the  next  world 

236 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

now,  and  I  see  it  to  be  far  better  than  this  heavy 
and  wretched  old  place.  You  '11  die  when  your 
time  comes  ;  won't  you,  Seppy,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  auntie,  when  my  time  comes," 
said  Septimius.  "  Very  likely  I  shall  want  to 
live  no  longer  by  that  time." 

"  Likely  not,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  I  'm 
sure  I  don't.  It  is  like  going  to  sleep  on  my 
mother's  breast  to  die.  So  good-night,  dear 
Seppy  !  " 

"  Good-night,  and  God  bless  you,  auntie  !  " 
said  Septimius,  with  a  gush  of  tears  blinding 
him,  spite  of  his  Indian  nature. 

The  old  woman  composed  herself,  and  lay 
quite  still  and  decorous  for  a  short  time  ;  then, 
rousing  herself  a  little,  "  Septimius,"  said  she, 
"  is  there  just  a  little  drop  of  my  drink  left  ? 
Not  that  I  want  to  live  any  longer,  but  if  I 
could  sip  ever  so  little,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  step 
into  the  other  world  quite  cheery,  with  it  warm 
in  my  heart,  and  not  feel  shy  and  bashful  at 
going  among  strangers." 

"  Not  one  drop,  auntie." 

"  Ah,  well,  no  matter  !  It  was  not  quite 
ri^ht,  that  last  cup.  It  had  a  queer  taste. 
What  could  you  have  put  into  it,  Seppy,  dar 
ling  r  But  no  matter,  no  matter  !  It 's  a  pre 
cious  stuff,  if  you  make  it  right.  Don't  forget 
the  herbs,  Septimius.  Something  wrong  had 
certainly  got  into  it." 

237 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

These,  except  for  some  murmurings,  some 
groanings  and  unintelligible  whisperings,  were 
the  last  utterances  of  poor  Aunt  Keziah,  who 
did  not  live  a  great  while  longer,  and  at  last 
passed  away  in  a  great  sigh,  like  a  gust  of  wind 
among  the  trees,  she  having  just  before  stretched 
out  her  hand  again  and  grasped  that  of  Sep- 
timius  ;  and  he  sat  watching  her  and  gazing  at 
her,  wondering  and  horrified,  touched,  shocked 
by  death,  of  which  he  had  so  unusual  a  terror, 
—  and  by  the  death  of  this  creature  especially, 
with  whom  he  felt  a  sympathy  that  did  not  exist 
with  any  other  person  now  living.  So  long  did 
he  sit,  holding  her  hand,  that  at  last  he  was 
conscious  that  it  was  growing  cold  within  his 
own,  and  that  the  stiffening  fingers  clutched 
him,  as  if  they  were  disposed  to  keep  their 
hold,  and  not  forego  the  tie  that  had  been  so 
peculiar. 

Then  rushing  hastily  forth,  he  told  the  near 
est  available  neighbor,  who  was  Robert  Hag- 
burn's  mother ;  and  she  summoned  some  of  her 
gossips,  and  came  to  the  house,  and  took  poor 
Aunt  Keziah  in  charge.  They  talked  of  her 
with  no  great  respect,  I  fear,  nor  much  sorrow, 
nor  sense  that  the  community  would  suffer  any 
great  deprivation  in  her  loss ;  for,  in  their  view, 
she  was  a  dram-drinking,  pipe-smoking,  cross- 
grained  old  maid,  and,  as  some  thought,  a  witch ; 
and,  at  any  rate,  with  too  much  of  the  Indian 

238 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

blood  in  her  to  be  of  much  use ;  and  they  hoped 
that  now  Rose  Garfield  would  have  a  pleasanter 
life,  and  Septimius  study  to  be  a  minister,  and 
all  things  go  well,  and  the  place  be  cheerfuller. 
They  found  Aunt  Keziah's  bottle  in  the  cup 
board,  and  tasted  and  smelt  of  it. 

"  Good  West  Indjy  as  ever  I  tasted,"  said 
Mrs.  Hagburn  ;  "  and  there  stands  her  broken 
pitcher,  on  the  hearth.  Ah,  empty  !  I  never 
could  bring  my  mind  to  taste  it ;  but  now  I  'm 
sorry  I  never  did,  for  I  suppose  nobody  in  the 
world  can  make  any  more  of  it." 

Septimius,  meanwhile,  had  betaken  himself  to 
the  hilltop,  which  was  his  place  of  refuge  on  all 
occasions  when  the  house  seemed  too  stifled  to 
contain  him  ;  and  there  he  walked  to  and  fro, 
with  a  certain  kind  of  calmness  and  indiffer 
ence  that  he  wondered  at ;  for  there  is  hardly 
anything  in  this  world  so  strange  as  the  quiet 
surface  that  spreads  over  a  man's  mind  in  his 
greatest  emergencies  :  so  that  he  deems  himself 
perfectly  quiet,  and  upbraids  himself  with  not 
feeling  anything,  when  indeed  he  is  passion- 
stirred.  As  Septimius  walked  to  and  fro,  he 
looked  at  the  rich  crimson  flowers,  which  seemed 
to  be  blooming  in  greater  profusion  and  luxu 
riance  than  ever  before.  He  had  made  an  ex 
periment  with  these  flowers,  and  he  was  curious 
to  know  whether  that  experiment  had  been  the 
cause  of  Aunt  Keziah's  death.  Not  that  he  felt 
239 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

any  remorse  therefor,  in  any  case,  or  believed 
himself  to  have  committed  a  crime,  having  really 
intended  and  desired  nothing  but  good.  I  sup 
pose  such  things  (and  he  must  be  a  lucky  phy 
sician,  methinks,  who  has  no  such  mischief  within 
his  own  experience)  never  weigh  with  deadly 
weight  on  any  man's  conscience.  Something 
must  be  risked  in  the  cause  of  science,  and  in 
desperate  cases  something  must  be  risked  for 
the  patient's  self.  Septimius,  much  as  he  loved 
life,  would  not  have  hesitated  to  put  his  own  life 
to  the  same  risk  that  he  had  imposed  on  Aunt 
Keziah  ;  or,  if  he  did  hesitate,  it  would  have  been 
only  because,  if  the  experiment  turned  out  dis 
astrously  in  his  own  person,  he  would  not  be  in 
a  position  to  make  another  and  more  successful 
trial ;  whereas,  by  trying  it  on  others,  the  man 
of  science  still  reserves  himself  for  new  efforts, 
and  does  not  put  all  the  hopes  of  the  world,  so 
far  as  involved  in  his  success,  on  one  cast  of  the 
die. 

By  and  by  he  met  Sibyl  Dacy,  who  had  as 
cended  the  hill,  as  was  usual  with  her,  at  sunset, 
and  came  towards  him,  gazing  earnestly  in  his 
face. 

"  They  tell  me  poor  Aunt  Keziah  is  no  more," 
said  she. 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  Septimius. 

"  The  flower  is  a  very  famous  medicine,"  said 
240 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

the  girl,  "  but  everything  depends  on  its  being 
applied  in  the  proper  way." 

"  Do  you  know  the  way,  then  ? "  asked  Sep- 
timius. 

"  No ;  you  should  ask  Doctor  Portsoaken 
about  that,"  said  Sibyl. 

Doctor  Portsoaken  !  And  so  he  should  con 
sult  him.  That  eminent  chemist  and  scientific 
man  had  evidently  heard  of  the  recipe,  and  at 
all  events  would  be  acquainted  with  the  best 
methods  of  getting  the  virtues  out  of  flowers  and 
herbs,  some  of  which,  Septimius  had  read  enough 
to  know,  were  poison  in  one  phase  and  shape 
of  preparation,  and  possessed  of  richest  virtues 
in  others  ;  their  poison,  as  one  may  say,  serving 
as  a  dark  and  terrible  safeguard,  which  Provi 
dence  has  set  to  watch  over  their  preciousness  ; 
even  as  a  dragon,  or  some  wild  and  fiendish 
spectre,  is  set  to  watch  and  keep  hidden  gold  and 
heaped-up  diamonds.  A  dragon  always  waits  on 
everything  that  is  very  good.  And  what  would 
deserve  the  watch  and  ward  of  danger  of  a  dragon, 
or  something  more  fatal  than  a  dragon,  if  not 
this  treasure  of  which  Septimius  was  in  quest, 
and  the  discovery  and  possession  of  which  would 
enable  him  to  break  down  one  of  the  strongest 
barriers  of  nature?  It  ought  to  be  death,  he 
acknowledged  it,  tb  attempt  such  a  thing ;  for 
how  changed  Would  be  life  if  he  should  succeed ; 
241 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

how  necessary  it  was  that  mankind  should  be 
defended  from  such  attempts  on  the  general  rule 
on  the  part  of  all  but  him.  How  could  Death 
be  spared  ?  —  then  the  sire  would  live  forever, 
and  the  heir  never  come  to  his  inheritance,  and 
so  he  would  at  once  hate  his  own  father,  from 
the  perception  that  he  would  never  be  out  of 
his  way.  Then  the  same  class  of  powerful  minds 
would  always  rule  the  state,  and  there  would 
never  be  a  change  of  policy. 

\_Here  several  pages  are  missing.  —  ED.] 

Through  such  scenes  Septimius  sought  out 
the  direction  that  Doctor  Portsoaken  had  given 
him,  and  came  to  the  door  of  a  house  in  the 
olden  part  of  the  town.  The  Boston  of  those 
days  had  very  much  the  aspect  of  provincial 
towns  in  England,  such  as  may  still  be  seen 
there,  while  our  own  city  has  undergone  such 
wonderful  changes  that  little  likeness  to  what 
our  ancestors  made  it  can  now  be  found.  The 
streets,  crooked  and  narrow ;  the  houses,  many 
gabled,  projecting,  with  latticed  windows  and 
diamond  panes  ;  without  sidewalks  ;  with  rough 
pavements. 

Septimius  knocked  loudly  at  the  door,  nor 
had  long  to  wait  before  a  serving  maid  appeared, 
who  seemed  to  be  of  English  nativity  ;  and  in 
reply  to  his  request  for  Doctor  Portsoaken  bade 
him  come  in,  and  led  him  up  a  staircase  with 
242 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

broad  landing  places ;  then  tapped  at  the  door 
of  a  room,  and  was  responded  to  by  a  gruff  voice 
saying,  "  Come  in  !  "  The  woman  held  the  door 
open,  and  Septimius  saw  the  veritable  Doctor 
Portsoaken  in  an  old,  faded  morning-gown,  and 
with  a  nightcap  on  his  head,  his  German  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  and  a  brandy  bottle,  to  the  best  of 
our  belief,  on  the  table  by  his  side. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  said  the  gruff  doctor, 
nodding  to  Septimius.  "  I  remember  you. 
Come  in,  man,  and  tell  me  your  business." 

Septimius  did  come  in,  but  was  so  struck  by 
the  aspect  of  Doctor  Portsoaken's  apartment, 
and  his  gown,  that  he  did  not  immediately  tell  his 
business.  In  the  first  place,  everything  looked 
very  dusty  and  dirty,  so  that  evidently  no  wo 
man  had  ever  been  admitted  into  this  sanctity 
of  a  place  ;  a  fact  made  all  the  more  evident  by 
the  abundance  of  spiders,  who  had  spun  their 
webs  about  the  walls  and  ceiling  in  the  wildest 
apparent  confusion,  though  doubtless  each  in 
dividual  spider  knew  the  cordage  which  he  had 
lengthened  out  of  his  own  miraculous  bowels. 
But  it  was  really  strange.  They  had  festooned 
their  cordage  on  whatever  was  stationary  in  the 
room,  making  a  sort  of  gray,  dusky  tapestry, 
that  waved  portentously  in  the  breeze,  and 
flapped,  heavy  and  dismal,  each  with  its  spider 
in  the  centre  of  his  own  system.  And  what  was 
most  marvellous  was  a  spider  over  the  doctor's 
243 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

head  ;  a  spider,  I  think,  of  some  South  Amer 
ican  breed,  with  a  circumference  of  its  many  legs 
as  big,  unless  I  am  misinformed,  as  a  teacup, 
and  with  a  body  in  the  midst  as  large  as  a  dol 
lar  ;  giving  the  spectator  horrible  qualms  as  to 
what  would  be  the  consequence  if  this  spider 
should  be  crushed,  and,  at  the  same  time,  sug 
gesting  the  poisonous  danger  of  suffering  such 
a  monster  to  live.  The  monster,  however,  sat 
in  the  midst  of  the  stalwart  cordage  of  his  web, 
right  over  the  doctor's  head  ;  and  he  looked, 
with  all  those  complicated  lines,  like  the  symbol 
of  a  conjurer  or  crafty  politician  in  the  midst  of 
the  complexity  of  his  scheme  ;  and  Septimius 
wondered  if  he  were  not  the  type  of  Doctor 
Portsoaken  himself,  who,  fat  and  bloated  as  the 
spider,  seemed  to  be  the  centre  of  some  dark 
contrivance.  And  could  it  be  that  poor  Septi 
mius  was  typified  by  the  fascinated  fly,  doomed 
to  be  entangled  by  the  web  ? 

"  Good-day  to  you,"  said  the  gruff  doctor, 
taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  "  Here  I  am, 
with  my  brother  spiders,  in  the  midst  of  my 
web.  I  told  you,  you  remember,  the  wonder 
ful  efficacy  which  I  had  discovered  in  spiders' 
webs  ;  and  this  is  my  laboratory,  where  I  have 
hundreds  of  workmen  concocting  my  panacea 
for  me.  Is  it  not  a  lovely  sight  ?  " 

"  A  wonderful  one,  at  least/'  said  Septimius. 
u  That  one  above  your  head,  the  monster,  is 
244 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

calculated  to  give  a  very  favorable  idea  of  your 
theory.  What  a  quantity  of  poison  there  must 
be  in  him  !  " 

"  Poison,  do  you  call  it  P  "  quoth  the  grim 
doctor.  "  That 's  entirely  as  it  may  be  used. 
Doubtless  his  bite  would  send  a  man  to  king 
dom  come  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  no  one 
need  want  a  better  life  line  than  that  fellow's 
web.  He  and  I  are  firm  friends,  and  I  believe 
he  would  know  my  enemies  by  instinct.  But 
come,  sit  down,  and  take  a  glass  of  brandy. 
No  ?  Well,  I  '11  drink  it  for  you.  And  how 
is  the  old  aunt  yonder,  with  her  infernal  nos 
trum,  the  bitterness  and  nauseousness  of  which 
my  poor  stomach  has  not  yet  forgotten  ?  " 

"  My  Aunt  Keziah  is  no  more,"  said  Septi- 
mius. 

"  No  more  !  Well,  I  trust  in  Heaven  she 
has  carried  her  secret  with  her,"  said  the  doc 
tor.  "If  anything  could  comfort  you  for  her 
loss,  it  would  be  that.  But  what  brings  you  to 
Boston  ?  " 

"  Only  a  dried  flower  or  two,"  said  Septi- 
mius,  producing  some  specimens  of  the  strange 
growth  of  the  grave.  "  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
about  them." 

The  naturalist  took  the  flowers  in  his  hand, 
one  of  which  had  the  root  appended,  and  ex 
amined  them  with  great  minuteness  and  some 
surprise ;  two  or  three  times  looking  in  Septi- 
245 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

mius's  face  with  a  puzzled  and  inquiring  air  ; 
then  examined  them  again; 

"  Do  you  tell  me,"  said  he,  "  that  the  plant 
has  been  found  indigenous  in  this  country,  and 
in  your  part  of  it  P  And  in  what  locality  ?  " 

"  Indigenous,  so  far  as  I  know,"  answered 
Septimius.  "As  to  the  locality," — he  hesi 
tated  a  little,  —  "  it  is  on  a  small  hillock,  scarcely 
bigger  than  a  molehill,  on  the  hilltop  behind 
my  house." 

The  naturalist  looked  steadfastly  at  him  with 
red,  burning  eyes,  under  his  deep,  impending, 
shaggy  brows ;  then  again  at  the  flower. 

"  Flower,  do  you  call  it  ? "  said  he,  after  a 
reexamination.  "  This  is  no  flower,  though  it 
so  closely  resembles  one,  and  a  beautiful  one, 
—  yes,  most  beautiful.  But  it  is  no  flower.  It 
is  a  certain  very  rare  fungus,  —  so  rare  as  al 
most  to  be  thought  fabulous  ;  and  there  are 
the  strangest  superstitions,  coming  down  from 
ancient  times,  as  to  the  mode  of  production. 
What  sort  of  manure  had  been  put  into  that 
hillock  ?  Was  it  merely  dried  leaves,  the  refuse 
of  the  forest,  or  something  else  ?  " 

Septimius  hesitated  a  little  ;  but  there  was  no 
teason  why  he  should  not  disclose  the  truth, — 
as  much  of  it  as  Doctor  Portsoaken  cared  to 
know. 

"  The  hillock  where  it  grew,"  answered  he, 
"was  a  grave." 

246 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

cc  A  grave  !  Strange  !  strange  !  "  quoth  Doc 
tor  Portsoaken.  "  Now  these  old  superstitions 
sometimes  prove  to  have  a  germ  of  truth  in 
them,  which  some  philosopher  has  doubtless 
long  ago,  in  forgotten  ages,  discovered  and  made 
known  ;  but  in  process  of  time  his  learned  mem 
ory  passes  away,  but  the  truth,  undiscovered, 
survives  him,  and  the  people  get  hold  of  it,  and 
make  it  the  nucleus  of  all  sorts  of  folly.  So  it 
grew  out  of  a  grave  !  Yes,  yes  ;  and  probably 
it  would  have  grown  out  of  any  other  dead 
flesh,  as  well  as  that  of  a  human  being ;  a  dog 
would  have  answered  the  purpose  as  well  as  a 
man.  You  must  know  that  the  seeds  of  fungi 
are  scattered  so  universally  over  the  world  that, 
only  comply  with  the  conditions,  and  you  will 
produce  them  everywhere.  Prepare  the  bed  it 
loves,  and  a  mushroom  wrill  spring  up  sponta 
neously,  an  excellent  food,  like  manna  from 
heaven.  So  superstition  says,  kill  your  dead 
liest  enemy,  and  plant  him,  and  he  will  come 
up  in  a  delicious  fungus,  which  I  presume  to 
be  this  ;  steep  him,  or  distil  him,  and  he  will 
make  an  elixir  of'life  for  you.  I  suppose  there 
is  some  foolish  symbolism  or  other  about  the 
matter ;  but  the  fact  I  affirm  to  be  nonsense. 
Dead  flesh  under  some  certain  conditions  of 
rain  and  sunshine,  not  at  present  ascertained  by 
science,  will  produce  the  fungus,  whether  the 
manure  be  friend,  or  foe,  or  cattle." 
247 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  And  as  to  its  medical  efficacy  ? "  asked 
Septimius. 

"  That  may  be  great  for  aught  I  know,"  said 
Portsoaken;  "but  I  am  content  with  my  cob 
webs.  You  may  seek  it  out  for  yourself.  But 
if  the  poor  fellow  lost  his  life  in  the  supposition 
that  he  might  be  a  useful  ingredient  in  a  recipe, 
you  are  rather  an  unscrupulous  practitioner." 

cc  The  person  whose  mortal  relics  fill  that 
grave,"  said  Septimius, "  was  no  enemy  of  mine 
(no  private  enemy,  I  mean,  though  he  stood 
among  the  enemies  of  my  country),  nor  had  I 
anything  to  gain  by  his  death.  I  strove  to 
avoid  aiming  at  his  life,  but  he  compelled  me." 

"  Many  a  chance  shot  brings  down  the  bird," 
said  Doctor  Portsoaken.  "  You  say  you  had 
no  interest  in  his  death.  We  shall  see  that  in 
the  end." 

Septimius  did  not  try  to  follow  the  conver 
sation  among  the  mysterious  hints  with  which 
the  doctor  chose  to  involve  it ;  but  he  now 
sought  to  gain  some  information  from  him  as 
to  the  mode  of  preparing  the  recipe,  and  whether 
he  thought  it  would  be  most  efficacious  as  a  de 
coction  or  as  a  distillation.  The  learned  chem 
ist  supported  most  decidedly  the  latter  opinion, 
and  showed  Septimius  how  he  might  make  for 
himself  a  simpler  apparatus,  with  no  better  aids 
than  Aunt  Keziah's  teakettle,  and  one  or  two 
trifling  things,  which  the  doctor  himself  sup- 
248 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

plied,  by  which  all  might  be  done  with  every 
necessary  scrupulousness. 

"  Let  me  look  again  at  the  formula,"  said  he. 
"  There  are  a  good  many  minute  directions  that 
appear  trifling,  but  it  is  not  safe  to  neglect  any 
minutiae  in  the  preparation  of  an  affair  like  this  ; 
because,  as  it  is  all  mysterious  and  unknown 
ground  together,  we  cannot  tell  which  may  be 
the  important  and  efficacious  part.  For  in 
stance,  when  all  else  is  done,  the  recipe  is  to  be 
exposed  seven  days  to  the  sun  at  noon.  That 
does  not  look  very  important,  but  it  may  be. 
Then  again,  (  Steep  it  in  moonlight  during  the 
second  quarter.'  That  's  all  moonshine,  one 
would  think;  but  there's  no  saying.  It  is 
singular,  with  such  preciseness,  that  no  distinct 
directions  are  given  whether  to  infuse,  decoct, 
distil,  or  what  other  way  ;  but  my  advice  is  to 
distil." 

"I  will  do  it,"  said  Septimius,  "and  not  a 
direction  shall  be  neglected." 

"  I  shall  be  curious  to  know  the  result,"  said 
Doctor  Portsoaken,  "  and  am  glad  to  see  the 
zeal  with  which  you  enter  into  the  matter.  A 
very  valuable  medicine  may  be  recovered  to 
science  through  your  agency,  and  you  may  make 
your  fortune  by  it ;  though,  for  my  part,  I  pre 
fer  to  trust  to  my  cobwebs.  This  spider,  now, 
is  not  he  a  lovely  object?  See,  he  is  quite  ca 
pable  of  knowledge  and  affection." 
249 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

There  seemed,  in  fact,  to  be  some  mode  of 
communication  between  the  doctor  and  his  spi 
der,  for  on  some  sign  given  by  the  former, 
imperceptible  to  Septimius,  the  many-legged 
monster  let  himself  down  by  a  cord,  which  he 
extemporized  out  of  his  own  bowels,  and  came 
dangling  his  huge  bulk  down  before  his  master's 
face,  while  the  latter  lavished  many  epithets  of 
endearment  upon  him,  ludicrous,  and  not  with 
out  horror,  as  applied  to  such  a  hideous  pro 
duction  of  nature. 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Doctor  Portsoaken,  "  I 
run  some  risk  from  my  intimacy  with  this  lovely 
jewel,  and  if  I  behave  not  all  the  more  prudently, 
your  countrymen  will  hang  me  for  a  wizard,  and 
annihilate  this  precious  spider  as  my  familiar. 
There  would  be  a  loss  to  the  world ;  not  small 
in  my  own  case,  but  enormous  in  the  case  of 
the  spider.  Look  at  him  now,  and  see  if  the 
mere  uninstructed  observation  does  not  discover 
a  wonderful  value  in  him." 

In  truth,  when  looked  at  closely,  the  spider 
really  showed  that  a  care  and  art  had  been  be 
stowed  upon  his  make,  not  merely  as  regards 
curiosity,  but  absolute  beauty,  that  seemed  to 
indicate  that  he  must  be  a  rather  distinguished 
creature  in  the  view  of  Providence ;  so  varie 
gated  was  he  with  a  thousand  minute  spots, 
spots  of  color,  glorious  radiance,  and  such  a 
brilliance  was  attained  by  many  conglomerated 
250 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

brilliancies  ;  and  it  was  very  strange  that  all  this 
care  was  bestowed  on  a  creature  that,  probably, 
had  never  been  carefully  considered  except  by 
the  two  pair  of  eyes  that  were  now  upon  it,  and 
that,  in  spite  of  its  beauty  and  magnificence, 
could  only  be  looked  at  with  an  effort  to  over 
come  the  mysterious  repulsiveness  of  its  pre 
sence  ;  for  all  the  time  that  Septimius  looked 
and  admired,  he  still  hated  the  thing,  and 
thought  it  wrong  that  it  was  ever  born,  and 
wished  that  it  could  be  annihilated.  Whether 
the  spider  was  conscious  of  the  wish,  we  are  un 
able  to  say ;  but  certainly  Septimius  felt  as  if 
he  were  hostile  to  him,  and  had  a  mind  to  sting 
him  ;  and,  in  fact,  Doctor  Portsoaken  seemed 
of  the  same  opinion. 

"  Aha,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  I  would  advise 
you  not  to  come  too  near  Orontes  !  He  is  a 
lovely  beast,  it  is  true  ;  but  in  a  certain  recess 
of  this  splendid  form  of  his  he  keeps  a  modest 
supply  of  a  certain  potent  and  piercing  poison, 
which  would  produce  a  wonderful  effect  on  any 
flesh  to  which  he  chose  to  apply  it.  A  power 
ful  fellow  is  Orontes  ;  and  he  has  a  great  sense 
of  his  own  dignity  and  importance,  and  will  not 
allow  it  to  be  imposed  on." 

Septimius  moved  from  the  vicinity  of  the  spi 
der,  who,  in  fact,  retreated,  by  climbing  up  his 
cord,  and  ensconced  himself  in  the  middle  of 
his  web,  where  he  remained  waiting  for  his  prey. 
251 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Septimius  wondered  whether  the  doctor  were 
symbolized  by  the  spider,  and  was  likewise  wait 
ing  in  the  middle  of  his  web  for  his  prey.  As 
he  saw  no  way,  however,  in  which  the  doctoi 
could  make  a  profit  out  of  himself,  or  how  he 
could  be  victimized,  the  thought  did  not  much 
disturb  his  equanimity.  He  was  about  to  take 
his  leave,  but  the  doctor,  in  a  derisive  kind  of 
way,  bade  him  sit  still,  for  he  purposed  keeping 
him  as  a  guest,  that  night,  at  leaft. 

"  I  owe  you  a  dinner/'  said  he, "  and  will  pay 
it  with  a  supper  and  knowledge  ;  and  before  we 
part  I  have  certain  inquiries  to  make,  of  which 
you  may  not  at  first  see  the  object,  but  yet  are 
not  quite  purposeless.  My  familiar,  up  aloft 
there,  has  whispered  me  something  about  you, 
and  I  rely  greatly  on  his  intimations." 

Septimius,  who  was  sufficiently  common-sen 
sible,  and  invulnerable  to  superstitious  influ 
ences  on  every  point  except  that  to  which  he 
had  surrendered  himself,  was  easily  prevailed 
upon  to  stay  ;  for  he  found  the  singular,  char- 
latanic,  mysterious  lore  of  the  man  curious,  and 
he  had  enough  of  real  science  to  at  least  make 
him  an  object  of  interest  to  one  who  knew  no 
thing  of  the  matter ;  and  Septimius's  acuteness, 
too,  was  piqued  in  trying  to  make  out  what 
manner  of  man  he  really  was,  and  how  much  in 
him  was  genuine  science  and  self-belief,  and  how 
much  quackery  and  pretension  and  conscious 
252 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

empiricism.  So  he  stayed,  and  supped  with  the 
doctor  at  a  table  heaped  more  bountifully,  and 
with  rarer  dainties,  than  Septimius  had  ever  be 
fore  conceived  of;  and  in  his  simpler  cogni 
zance,  heretofore,  of  eating  merely  to  live,  he 
could  not  but  wonder  to  see  a  man  of  thought 
caring  to  eat  of  more  than  one  dish,  so  that 
most  of  the  meal,  on  his  part,  was  spent  in  see 
ing  the  doctor  feed  and  hearing  him  discourse 
upon  his  food. 

"If  man  lived  only  to  eat,"  quoth  the  doctor, 
"one  life  would  not  suffice,  not  merely  to  ex 
haust  the  pleasure  of  it,  but  even  to  get  the 
rudiments  of  it." 

When  this  important  business  was  over,  the 
doctor  and  his  guest  sat  down  again  in  his  lab 
oratory,  where  the  former  took  eare  to  have  his 
usual  companion,  the  black  bottle,  at  his  elbow, 
and  filled  his  pipe,  and  seemed  to  feel  a  cer 
tain  sullen,  genial,  fierce,  brutal,  kindly  mood 
enough,  and  looked  at  Septimius  with  a  sort  of 
friendship,  as  if  he  had  as  lief  shake  hands  with 
him  as  knock  him  down. 

"  Now  for  a  talk  about  business,"  said  he. 

Septimius  thought,  however,  that  the  doc 
tor's  talk  began,  at  least,  at  a  sufficient  remote 
ness  from  any  practical  business  ;  for  he  began 
to  question  about  his  remote  ancestry,  what  he 
knew,  or  what  record  had  been  preserved,  of 
the  first  emigrant  from  England ;  whence,  from 
253 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

what  shire  or  part  of  England,  that  ancestor 
had  come ;  whether  there  were  any  memorial  of 
any  kind  remaining  of  him,  any  letters  or  writ 
ten  documents,  wills,  deeds,  or  other  legal  pa 
per  ;  in  short,  all  about  him. 

Septimius  could  not  satisfactorily  see  whether 
these  inquiries  were  made  with  any  definite  pur 
pose,  or  from  a  mere  general  curiosity  to  dis 
cover  how  a  family  of  early  settlement  in 
America  might  still  be  linked  with  the  old  coun 
try  ;  whether  there  were  any  tendrils  stretching 
across  the  gulf  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  by 
which  the  American  branch  of  the  family  was 
separated  from  the  trunk  of  the  family  tree  in 
England.  The  doctor  partly  explained  this. 

"  You  must  know,"  said  he,  "  that  the  name 
you  bear,  Felton,  is  one  formerly  of  much  emi 
nence  and  repute  in  my  part  of  England,  and, 
indeed,  very  recently  possessed  of  wealth  and 
station.  I  should  like  to  know  if  you  are  of 
that  race/' 

Septimius  answered  with  such  facts  and  tradi 
tions  as  had  come  to  his  knowledge  respecting 
his  family  history  ;  a  sort  of  history  that  is  quite 
as  liable  to  be  mythical,  in  its  early  and  distant 
stages,  as  that  of  Rome,  and,  indeed,  seldom 
goes  three  or  four  generations  back  without 
getting  into  a  mist  really  impenetrable,  though 
great,  gloomy,  and  magnificent  shapes  of  men 
often  seem  to  loom  in  it,  who,  if  they  could  be 
254 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

brought  close  to  the  naked  eye,  would  turn  out 
as  commonplace  as  the  descendants  who  wonder 
at  and  admire  them.  He  remembered  Aunt 
Keziah's  legend,  and  said  he  had  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  his  first  ancestor  came  over  at  a  some 
what  earlier  date  than  the  first  Puritan  settlers, 
and  dvv7elt  among  the  Indians,  where  (and  here 
the  young  man  cast  down  his  eyes,  having  the 
customary  American  abhorrence  for  any  mix 
ture  of  blood)  he  had  intermarried  with  the 
daughter  of  a  sagamore,  and  succeeded  to  his 
rule.  This  might  have  happened  as  early  as 
the  end  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  perhaps  later.  It 
was  impossible  to  decide  dates  on  such  a  matter. 
There  had  been  a  son  of  this  connection,  per 
haps  more  than  one,  but  certainly  one  son,  who, 
on  the  arrival  of  the  Puritans,  was  a  youth,  his 
father  appearing  to  have  been  slain  in  some  out 
break  of  the  tribe,  perhaps  owing  to  the  jeal 
ousy  of  prominent  chiefs  at  seeing  their  natu 
ral  authority  abrogated  or  absorbed  by  a  man 
of  different  race.  He  slightly  alluded  to  the 
supernatural  attributes  that  gathered  round  this 
predecessor,  but  in  a  way  to  imply  that  he  put 
no  faith  in  them  ;  for  Septimius's  natural  keen 
sense  and  perception  kept  him  from  betraying 
his  weakness  to  the  doctor,  by  the  same  instinc 
tive  and  subtle  caution  with  which  a  madman 
can  so  well  conceal  his  infirmity. 

On    the    arrival  of  the  Puritans,   they  had 
255 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

found  among  the  Indians  a  youth  partly  of  their 
own  blood,  able,  though  imperfectly,  to  speak 
their  language,  —  having,  at  least,  some  early 
recollections  of  it,  —  inheriting,  also,  a  share  of 
influence  over  the  tribe  on  which  his  father  had 
grafted  him.  It  was  natural  that  they  should 
pay  especial  attention  to  this  youth,  consider  it 
their  duty  to  give  him  religious  instruction  in 
the  faith  of  his  fathers,  and  try  to  use  him  as  a 
means  of  influencing  his  tribe.  They  did  so, 
but  did  not  succeed  in  swaying  the  tribe  by  his 
means,  their  success  having  been  limited  to 
winning  the  half-Indian  from  the  wild  ways  of 
his  mother's  people,  into  a  certain  partial  but 
decent  accommodation  to  those  of  the  English. 
A  tendency  to  civilization  was  brought  out  in 
his  character  by  their  rigid  training;  at  least, 
his  savage  wildness  was  broken.  He  built  a 
house  among  them,  with  a  good  deal  of  the 
wigwam,  no  doubt,  in  its  style  of  architecture, 
but  still  a  permanent  house,  near  which  he  estab 
lished  a  cornfield,  a  pumpkin  garden,  a  melon 
patch,  and  became  farmer  enough  to  be  entitled 
to  ask  the  hand  of  a  Puritan  maiden.  There 
he  spent  his  Hfe,  with  some  few  instances  of 
temporary  relapse  into  savage  wildness,  when 
he  fished  in  the  river  Musquehannah,  or  in 
Walden,  or  strayed  in  the  woods,  when  he 
should  have  been  planting  or  hoeing  ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  the  race  had  been  redeemed  from 
256 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

barbarism  in  his  person,  and  in  the  succeeding 
generations  had  been  tamed  more  and  more. 
The  second  generation  had  been  distinguished 
in  the  Indian  wars  of  the  provinces,  and  then 
intermarried  with  the  stock  of  a  distinguished 
Puritan  divine,  by  which  means  Septimius  could 
reckon  great  and  learned  men,  scholars  of  old 
Cambridge,  among  his  ancestry  on  one  side, 
while  on  the  other  it  ran  up  to  the  early  emi 
grants,  who  seemed  to  have  been  remarkable 
men,  and  to  that  strange  wild  lineage  of  Indian 
chiefs,  whose  blood  was  like  that  of  persons  not 
quite  human,  intermixed  with  civilized  blood. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  doctor  musingly, 
"  whether  there  are  really  no  documents  to  as 
certain  the  epoch  at  which  that  old  first  emi 
grant  came  over,  and  whence  he  came,  and  pre 
cisely  from  what  English  family.  Often  the 
last  heir  of  some  respectable  name  dies  in  Eng 
land,  and  we  say  that  the  family  is  extinct ; 
whereas,  very  possibly,  it  may  be  abundantly 
flourishing  in  the  New  World,  revived  by  the 
rich  infusion  of  new  blood  in  a  new  soil,  instead 
of  growing  feebler,  heavier,  stupider,  each  year 
by  sticking  to  an  old  soil,  intermarrying  over 
and  over  again  with  the  same  respectable  fami 
lies,  till  it  has  made  common  stock  of  all  their 
vices,  weaknesses,  madnesses.  Have  you  no 
documents,  I  say,  no  muniment  deed  ? " 

"  None,"  said  Septimius. 
257 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"  No  old  furniture,  desks,  trunks,  chests, 
cabinets  ?  " 

"You  must  remember,"  said  Septimius,  "that 
my  Indian  ancestor  was  not  very  likely  to  have 
brought  such  things  out  of  the  forest  with  him. 
A  wandering  Indian  does  not  carry  a  chest  of 
papers  with  him.  I  do  remember,  in  my  child 
hood,  a  little  old  iron-bound  chest,  or  coffer, 
of  which  the  key  was  lost,  and  which  my  Aunt 
Keziah  used  to  say  came  down  from  her  great- 
great-grandfather.  I  don't  know  what  has  be 
come  of  it,  and  my  poor  old  aunt  kept  it  among 
her  own  treasures." 

"  Well,  my  friend,  do  you  hunt  up  that  old 
coffer,  and,  just  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  let  me 
see  the  contents." 

"  I  have  other  things  to  do,"  said  Septimius. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  quoth  the  doctor,  "  but  no 
other,  as  it  may  turn  out,  of  quite  so  much  im 
portance  as  this.  I  '11  tell  you  fairly  :  the  heir 
of  a  great  English  house  is  lately  dead,  and  the 
estate  lies  open  to  any  well-sustained,  perhaps 
to  any  plausible,  claimant.  If  it  should  appear 
from  the  records  of  that  family,  as  I  have 
some  reason  to  suppose,  that  a  member  of  it, 
who  would  now  represent  the  older  branch,  dis 
appeared  mysteriously  and  unaccountably,  at  a 
date  corresponding  with  what  might  be  ascer 
tained  as  that  of  your  ancestor's  first  appearance 
in  this  country ;  if  any  reasonable  proof  can  be 

258 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

brought  forward,  on  the  part  of  the  represents 
tives  of  that  white  sagamore,  that  wizard  pow 
wow,  or  however  you  call  him,  that  he  was  the 
disappearing  Englishman,  why,  a  good  case  is 
made  out.  Do  you  feel  no  interest  in  such  a 
prospect  ?  " 

"  Very  little,  I  confess,"  said  Septimius. 

"  Very  little  !  "  said  the  grim  doctor  impa 
tiently.  "  Do  not  you  see  that,  if  you  make  good 
your  claim,  you  establish  for  yourself  a  position 
among  the  English  aristocracy,  and  succeed  to 
a  noble  English  estate,  an  ancient  hall,  where 
your  forefathers  have  dwelt  since  the  Conqueror ; 
splendid  gardens,  hereditary  woods  and  parks, 
to  which  anything  America  can  show  is  despica 
ble, —  all  thoroughly  cultivated  and  adorned, 
with  the  care  and  ingenuity  of  centuries  ;  and  an 
income,  a  month  of  which  would  be  greater 
wealth  than  any  of  your  American  ancestors,  rak 
ing  and  scraping  for  his  lifetime,  has  ever  got 
together,  as  the  accumulated  result  of  the  toil 
and  penury  by  which  he  has  sacrificed  body  and 
soul P  " 

"  That  strain  of  Indian  blood  is  in  me  yet/' 
said  Septimius,  "  and  it  makes  me  despise,  —  no, 
not  despise  ;  for  I  can  see  their  desirableness  for 
other  people,  —  but  it  makes  me  reject  for  my 
self  what  you  think  so  valuable.  I  do  not  care 
for  these  common  aims.  I  have  ambition,  but 
it  is  for  prizes  such  as  other  men  cannot  gain, 
259 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  do  not  think  of  aspiring  after.  I  could  not 
live  in  the  habits  of  English  life,  as  I  conceive 
it  to  be,  and  would  not,  for  my  part,  be  bur 
dened  with  the  great  estate  you  speak  of.  It 
might  answer  mj  purpose  for  a  time.  It  would 
suit  me  well  enough  to  try  that  mode  of  life,  as 
well  as  a  hundred  others,  but  only  for  a  time. 
It  is  of  no  permanent  importance." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  young  man,"  said 
the  doctor  testily,  "  you  have  something  in  your 
brain  that  makes  you  talk  very  foolishly  ;  and 
I  have  partly  a  suspicion  what  it  is,  —  only  I 
can't  think  that  a  fellow  who  is  really  gifted  with 
respectable  sense  in  other  directions  should  be 
such  a  confounded  idiot  in  this." 

Septimius  blushed,  but  held  his  peace,  and  the 
conversation  languished  after  this  ;  the  doctor 
grimly  smoking  his  pipe,  and  by  no  means  in 
creasing  the  milkiness  of  his  mood  by  frequent 
applications  to  the  black  bottle,  until  Septimius 
intimated  that  he  would  like  to  go  to  bed.  The 
old  woman  was  summoned,  and  ushered  him  to 
his  chamber. 

At  breakfast,  the  doctor  partially  renewed  the 
subject  which  he  seemed  to  consider  most  im 
portant  in  yesterday's  conversation. 

"  My  young  friend,"  said  he,  cc  I  advise  you 
to  look  in  cellar  and  garret,  or  wherever  you 
consider  the  most  likely  place,  for  that  iron- 
bound  coffer.  There  may  be  nothing  in  it ;  it 
260 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

may  be  full  of  musty  love  letters,  or  old  ser 
mons,  or  receipted  bills  of  a  hundred  years  ago  ; 
but  it  may  contain  what  will  be  worth  to  you  an 
estate  of  five  thousand  pounds  a  year.  It  is  a 
pity  the  old  woman  with  the  damnable  decoction 
is  gone  off.  Look  it  up,  I  say." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Septimius  abstractedly, 
"  when  I  can  find  time." 

So  saying,  he  took  his  leave,  and  retraced  his 
way  back  to  his  home.  He  had  not  seemed  like 
himself  during  the  time  that  elapsed  since  he  left 
it,  and  it  appeared  an  infinite  space  that  he  had 
lived  through  and  travelled  over,  and  he  fancied 
it  hardly  possible  that  he  could  ever  get  back 
again.  But  now,  with  every  step  that  he  took, 
he  found  himself  getting  miserably  back  into 
the  old  enchanted  land.  The  mist  rose  up  about 
him,  the  pale  mist  bow  of  ghostly  promise 
curved  before  him  ;  and  he  trod  back  again,  poor 
boy,  out  of  the  clime  of  real  effort,  into  the  land 
of  his  dreams  and  shadowy  enterprise. 

"  How  was  it,"  said  he,  "  that  I  can  have  been 
so  untrue  to  my  convictions  ?  Whence  came 
that  dark  and  dull  despair  that  weighed  upon 
me  ?  Why  did  I  let  the  mocking  mood  which 
I  was  conscious  of  in  that  brutal,  brandy-burnt 
sceptic  have  such  an  influence  on  me  ?  Let  him 
guzzle  !  He  shall  not  tempt  me  from  my  pur 
suit,  with  his  lure  of  an  estate  and  name  among 
those  heavy  English  beef-eaters  of  whom  he  is 
261 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

a  brother.  My  destiny  is  one  which  kings  might 
envy,  and  strive  in  vain  to  buy  with  principali 
ties  and  kingdoms." 

So  he  trod  on  air  almost,  in  the  latter  parts 
of  his  journey,  and  instead  of  being  wearied, 
grew  more  airy  with  the  latter  miles  that  brought 
him  to  his  wayside  home. 

So  now  Septimius  sat  down  and  began  in  ear 
nest  his  endeavors  and  experiments  to  prepare 
the  medicine,  according  to  the  mysterious  terms 
of  the  recipe.  It  seemed  not  possible  to  do  it,  so 
many  rebuffs  and  disappointments  did  he  meet 
with.  No  effort  would  produce  a  combination 
answering  to  the  description  of  the  recipe,  which 
propounded  a  brilliant,  gold-colored  liquid,  clear 
as  the  air  itself,  with  a  certain  fragrance  which 
was  peculiar  to  it,  and  also,  what  was  the  more 
individual  test  of  the  correctness  of  the  mixture, 
a  certain  coldness  of  the  feeling,  a  chillness  which 
was  described  as  peculiarly  refreshing  and  in 
vigorating.  With  all  his  trials,  he  produced 
nothing  but  turbid  results,  clouded  generally,  or 
lacking  something  in  color,  and  never  that  fra 
grance,  and  never  that  coldness  which  was  to  be 
the  test  of  truth.  He  studied  all  the  books  of 
chemistry  which  at  that  period  were  attainable, 
—  a  period  when,  in  the  world,  it  was  a  science 
far  unlike  what  it  has  since  become  ;  and  when 
Septimius  had  no  instruction  in  this  country, 
nor  could  obtain  any  beyond  the  dark,  mysteri- 
262 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ous  charlatanic  communications  of  Doctor  Port- 
soaken.  So  that,  in  fact,  he  seemed  to  be  dis 
covering  for  himself  the  science  through  which 
he  was  to  work.  He  seemed  to  do  everything 
that  was  stated  in  the  recipe,  and  yet  no  results 
came  from  it ;  the  liquid  that  he  produced  was 
nauseous  to  the  smell,  —  to  taste  it  he  had  a  hor 
rible  repugnance,  turbid,  nasty,  reminding  him 
in  most  respects  of  poor  Aunt  Keziah's  elixir ; 
and  it  was  a  body  without  a  soul,  and  that  body 
dead.  And  so  it  went  on  ;  and  the  poor,  half- 
maddened  Septimius  began  to  think  that  his  im 
mortal  life  was  preserved  by  the  mere  effort  of 
seeking  for  it,  but  was  to  be  spent  in  the  quest, 
and  was  therefore  to  be  made  an  eternity  of 
abortive  misery.  He  pored  over  the  document 
that  had  so  possessed  him,  turning  its  crabbed 
meanings  every  way,  trying  to  get  out  of  it  some 
new  light,  often  tempted  to  fling  it  into  the  fire 
which  he  kept  under  his  retort,  and  let  the  whole 
thing  go  ;  but  then  again,  soon  rising  out  of  that 
black  depth  of  despair,  into  a  determination  to 
do  what  he  had  so  long  striven  for.  With  such 
intense  action  of  mind  as  he  brought  to  bear  on 
this  paper,  it  is  wonderful  that  it  was  not  spirit 
ually  distilled  ;  that  its  essence  did  not  arise, 
purified  from  all  alloy  of  falsehood,  from  all  tur- 
bidness  of  obscurity  and  ambiguity,  and  form  a 
pure  essence  of  truth  and  invigorating  motive, 
if  of  any  it  were  capable.  In  this  interval,  Sep- 

263 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

timius  is  said  by  tradition  to  have  found  out 
many  wonderful  secrets  that  were  almost  beyond 
the  scope  of  science.  It  was  said  that  old  Aunt 
Keziah  used  to  come  with  a  coal  of  fire  from  un 
known  furnaces,  to  light  his  distilling  apparatus  ; 
it  was  said,  too,  that  the  ghost  of  the  old  lord, 
whose  ingenuity  had  propounded  this  puzzle  for 
his  descendants,  used  to  come  at  midnight  and 
strive  to  explain  to  him  this  manuscript ;  that 
the  Black  Man,  too,  met  him  on  the  hilltop,  and 
promised  him  an  immediate  release  from  his  dif 
ficulties,  provided  he  would  kneel  down  and  wor 
ship  him,  and  sign  his  name  in  his  book,  an  old, 
iron-clasped,  much-worn  volume,  which  he  pro 
duced  from  his  ample  pockets,  and  showed  him 
in  it  the  names  of  many  a  man  whose  name  has 
become  historic,  and  above  whose  ashes  kept 
watch  an  inscription  testifying  to  his  virtues  and 
devotion,  —  old  autographs,  —  for  the  Black 
Man  was  the  original  autograph  collector. 

But  these,  no  doubt,  were  foolish  stories,  con 
ceived  and  propagated  in  chimney  corners,  while 
yet  there  were  chimney  corners  and  firesides,  and 
smoky  flues.  There  was  no  truth  in  such  things, 
I  am  sure  ;  the  Black  Man  had  changed  his  tac 
tics,  and  knew  better  than  to  lure  the  human 
soul  thus  to  come  to  him  with  his  musty  auto 
graph  book.  So  Septimius  fought  with  his  diffi 
culty  by  himself,  as  many  a  beginner  in  science 
has  done  before  him  ;  and  to  his  efforts  in  this 
264 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

way  are  popularly  attributed  many  herb  drinks, 
and  some  kinds  of  spruce  beer,  and  nostrums 
used  for  rheumatism,  sore  throat,  and  typhus 
fever ;  but  I  rather  think  they  all  came  from 
Aunt  Keziah  ;  or  perhaps,  like  jokes  to  Joe 
Miller,  all  sorts  of  quack  medicines,  flocking  at 
large  through  the  community,  are  assigned  to 
him  or  her.  The  people  have  a  little  mistaken 
the  character  and  purpose  of  poor  Septimius, 
and  remember  him  as  a  quack  doctor,  instead 
of  a  seeker  for  a  secret,  not  the  less  sublime  and 
elevating  because  it  happened  to  be  unattain 
able. 

I  know  not*hrough  what  medium  or  by  what 
means,  but  it  got  noised  abroad  that  Septimius 
was  engaged  in  some  mysterious  work ;  and,  in 
deed,  his  seclusion,  his  absorption,  his  indiffer 
ence  to  all  that  was  going  on  in  that  weary  time 
of  war,  looked  strange  enough  to  indicate  that 
it  must  be  some  most  important  business  that 
engrossed  him.  On  the  few  occasions  when  he 
came  out  from  his  immediate  haunts  into  the 
village,  he  had  a  strange,  owl-like  appearance, 
uncombed,  unbrushed,  his  hair  long  and  tangled ; 
his  face,  they  said,  darkened  with  smoke  ;  his 
cheeks  pale  ;  the  indentation  of  his  brow  deeper 
than  ever  before  ;  an  earnest,  haggard,  sulking 
look  ;  and  so  he  went  hastily  along  the  village 
street,  feeling  as  if  all  eyes  might  find  out  what 
he  had  in  his  mind  from  his  appearance  ;  taking 
265 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

byways  where  they  were  to  be  found,  going 
long  distances  through  woods  and  fields,  rather 
than  short  ones  where  the  way  lay  through  the 
frequented  haunts  of  men.  For  he  shunned  the 
glances  of  his  fellow  men,  probably  because  he 
had  learnt  to  consider  them  not  as  fellows,  be 
cause  he  was  seeking  to  withdraw  himself  from 
the  common  bond  and  destiny,  —  because  he 
felt,  too,  that  on  that  account  his  fellow  men 
would  consider  him  as  a  traitor,  an  enemy,  one 
who  had  deserted  their  cause,  and  tried  to  with 
draw  his  feeble  shoulder  from  under  that  great 
burden  of  death  which  is  imposed  on  all  men 
to  bear,  and  which,  if  one  could  escape,  each 
other  would  feel  his  load  proportionably  heavier. 
With  these  beings  of  a  moment  he  had  no  longer 
any  common  cause  ;  they  must  go  their  separate 
ways,  yet  apparently  the  same,  —  they  on  the 
broad,  dusty,  beaten  path,  that  seemed  always 
full,  but  from  which  continually  they  so  strangely 
vanished  into  invisibility,  no  one  knowing,  nor 
long  inquiring,  what  had  become  of  them  ;  he 
on  his  lonely  path,  where  he  should  tread  se 
cure,  with  no  trouble  but  the  loneliness,  which 
would  be  none  to  him.  For  a  little  while  he 
would  seem  to  keep  them  company,  but  soon 
they  would  all  drop  away,  the  minister,  his  ac 
customed  townspeople,  Robert  Hagburn,  Rose, 
Sibyl  Dacy,  —  all  leaving  him  in  blessed  un- 
266 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

knownness  to  adopt  new  temporary  relations, 
and  take  a  new  course. 

Sometimes,  however,  the  prospect  a  little 
chilled  him.  Could  he  give  them  all  up,  —  the 
sweet  sister  ;  the  friend  of  his  childhood  ;  the 
grave  instructor  of  his  youth  ;  the  homely,  life- 
known  faces  ?  Yes  ;  there  were  such  rich  pos 
sibilities  in  the  future  :  for  he  would  seek  out 
the  noblest  minds,  the  deepest  hearts  in  every 
age,  and  be  the  friend  of  human  time.  Only  it 
might  be  sweet  to  have  one  unchangeable  com 
panion  ;  for,  unless  he  strung  the  pearls  and 
diamonds  of  life  upon  one  unbroken  affection, 
he  sometimes  thought  that  his  life  would  have 
nothing  to  give  it  unity  and  identity  ;  and  so 
the  longest  life  would  be  but  an  aggregate  of  in 
sulated  fragments,  which  would  have  no  relation 
to  one  another.  And  so  it  would  not  be  one  life, 
but  many  unconnected  ones.  Unless  he  could 
look  into  the  same  eyes,  through  the  mornings 
of  future  time,  opening  and  blessing  him  with 
the  fresh  gleam  of  love  and  joy ;  unless  the  same 
sweet  voice  could  melt  his  thoughts  together; 
unless  some  sympathy  of  a  life  side  by  side  with 
his  could  knit  them  into  one ;  looking  back 
upon  the  same  things,  looking  forward  to  the 
same  ;  the  long,  thin  thread  of  an  individual 
life,  stretching  onward  and  onward,  would  cease 
to  be  visible,  cease  to  be  felt,  cease,  by  and  by, 

267 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

to  have  any  real  bigness  in  proportion  to  its 
length,  and  so  be  virtually  non-existent,  except 
in  the  mere  inconsiderable  Now.  If  a  group  of 
chosen  friends,  chosen  out  of  all  the  world  for 
their  adaptedness,  could  go  on  in  endless  life 
together,  keeping  themselves  mutually  warm  on 
the  high,  desolate  way,  then  none  of  them  need 
ever  sigh  to  be  comforted  in  the  pitiable  snug- 
ness  of  the  grave.  If  one  especial  soul  might 
be  his  companion,  then  how  complete  the  fence 
of  mutual  arms,  the  warmth  of  close-pressing 
breast  to  breast !  Might  there  be  one  !  O  Sibyl 
Dacy  ! 

Perhaps  it  could  not  be.  Who  but  himself 
could  undergo  that  great  trial,  and  hardship,  and 
self-denial,  and  firm  purpose,  never  wavering, 
never  sinking  for  a  moment,  keeping  his  grasp 
on  life  like  one  who  holds  up  by  main  force  a 
sinking  and  drowning  friend  ?  —  how  could  a 
woman  do  it!  He  must  then  give  up  the 
thought.  There  was  a  choice,  —  friendship,  and 
the  love  of  woman,  —  the  long  life  of  immor 
tality.  There  was  something  heroic  and  enno 
bling  in  choosing  the  latter.  And  so  he  walked 
with  the  mysterious  girl  on  the  hilltop,  and  sat 
down  beside  her  on  the  grave,  which  still  ceased 
not  to  redden,  portentously  beautiful,  with  that 
unnatural  flower,  —  and  they  talked  together  ; 
and  Septimius  looked  on  her  weird  beauty,  and 
often  said  to  himself,  "  This,  too,  will  pass  away; 
268 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

she  is  not  capable  of  what  I  am  ;  she  is  a  wo 
man.  It  must  be  a  manly  and  courageous  and 
forcible  spirit,  vastly  rich  in  all  three  particulars, 
that  has  strength  enough  to  live !  Ah,  is  it  surely 
so  ?  There  is  such  a  dark  sympathy  between 
us,  she  knows  me  so  well,  she  touches  my  in 
most  so  at  unawares,  that  I  could  almost  think 
I  had  a  companion  here.  Perhaps  not  so  soon. 
At  the  end  of  centuries  I  might  wed  one  ;  not 
now/' 

But  once  he  said  to  Sibyl  Dacy,  "Ah,  how 
sweet  it  would  be  —  sweet  for  me,  at  least  —  if 
this  intercourse  might  last  forever  !  " 

"  That  is  an  awful  idea  that  you  present/' 
said  Sibyl,  with  a  hardly  perceptible,  involuntary 
shudder :  "  always  on  this  hilltop,  always  pass 
ing  and  repassing  this  little  hillock ;  always 
smelling  these  flowers  !  I  always  looking  at  this 
deep  chasm  in  your  brow  ;  you  always  seeing 
my  bloodless  cheek !  —  doing  this  till  these  trees 
crumble  away,  till  perhaps  a  new  forest  grew 
up  wherever  this  white  race  had  planted,  and  a 
race  of  savages  again  possess  the  soil.  I  should 
not  like  it.  My  mission  here  is  but  for  a  short 
time,  and  will  soon  be  accomplished,  and  then 
I  go." 

"  You  do  not  rightly  estimate  the  way  in  which 
the  long  time  might  be  spent/'  said  Septimius. 
cc  We  would  find  out  a  thousand  uses  of  this 
world,  uses  and  enjoyments  which  now  men 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

never  dream  of,  because  the  world  is  just  held 
to  their  mouths,  and  then  snatched  away  again, 
before  they  have  time  hardly  to  taste  it,  instead 
of  becoming  acquainted  with  the  deliciousness 
of  this  great  world-fruit.  But  you  speak  of  a 
mission,  and  as  if  you  were  now  in  performance 
of  it.  Will  you  not  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  No/'  said  Sibyl  Dacy,  smiling  on  him. 
"  But  one  day  you  shall  know  what  it  is,  —  none 
sooner  nor  better  than  you,  —  so  much  I  pro 
mise  you." 

"  Are  we  friends  ?  "  asked  Septimius,  some 
what  puzzled  by  her  look. 

"  We  have  an  intimate  relation  to  one  an 
other,"  replied  Sibyl. 

"  And  what  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Septimius. 

"  That  will  appear  hereafter,"  answered  Sibyl, 
again  smiling  on  him. 

He  knew  not  what  to  make  of  this,  nor 
whether  to  be  exalted  or  depressed  ;  but,  at  all 
events,  there  seemed  to  be  an  accordance,  a  strik 
ing  together,  a  mutual  touch  of  their  two  natures, 
as  if,  somehow  or  other,  they  were  performing 
the  same  part  of  solemn  music  ;  so  that  he  felt 
his  soul  thrill,  and  at  the  same  time  shudder. 
Some  sort  of  sympathy  there  surely  was,  but  of 
what  nature  he  could  not  tell  ;  though  often  he 
was  impelled  to  ask  himself  the  same  question 
he  asked  Sibyl,  "  Are  we  friends  ? "  because  of 
a  sudden  shock  and  repulsion  that  came  between 
270 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

them,  and  passed  away  in  a  moment ;  and  there 
would  be  Sibyl,  smiling  askance  on  him. 

And  then  he  toiled  away  again  at  his  chemical 
pursuits  ;  tried  to  mingle  things  harmoniously 
that  apparently  were  not  born  to  be  mingled  ; 
discovering  a  science  for  himself,  and  mixing  it 
up  with  absurdities  that  other  chemists  had  long 
ago  flung  aside  ;  but  still  there  would  be  that 
turbid  aspect,  still  that  lack  of  fragrance,  still 
that  want  of  the  peculiar  temperature,  that  was 
announced  as  the  test  of  the  matter.  Over  and 
over  again  he  set  the  crystal  vase  in  the  sun,  and 
let  it  stay  there  the  appointed  time,  hoping  that 
it  would  digest  in  such  a  manner  as  to  bring 
about  the  desired  result. 

One  day,  as  it  happened,  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  silver  key  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
breast  of  the  dead  young  man,  and  he  thought 
within  himself  that  this  might  have  something  to 
do  with  the  seemingly  unattainable  success  of  his 
pursuit.  He  remembered,  for  the  first  time,  the 
grim  doctor's  emphatic  injunction  to  search  for 
the  little  iron-bound  box  of  which  he  had  spoken, 
and  which  had  come  down  with  such  legends 
attached  to  it ;  as,  for  instance,  that  it  held  the 
Devil's  bond  with  his  great-great-grandfather, 
now  cancelled  by  the  surrender  of  the  latter's 
soul;  that  it  held  the  golden  key  of  Paradise; 
that  it  was  full  of  old  gold,  or  of  the  dry  leaves 
of  a  hundred  years  ago  ;  that  it  had  a  familiar 

271 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

fiend  in  it,  who  would  be  exorcised  by  the  turn 
ing  of  the  lock,  but  would  otherwise  remain  a 
prisoner  till  the  solid  oak  of  the  box  mouldered, 
or  the  iron  rusted  away ;  so  that  between  fear 
and  the  loss  of  the  key,  this  curious  old  box 
had  remained  unopened,  till  itself  was  lost. 

But  now  Septimius,  putting  together  what 
Aunt  Keziah  had  said  in  her  dying  moments, 
and  what  Doctor  Portsoaken  had  insisted  upon, 
suddenly  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  pos 
session  of  the  old  iron  box  might  be  of  the  great 
est  importance  to  him.  So  he  set  himself  at 
once  to  think  where  he  had  last  seen  it.  Aunt 
Keziah,  of  course,  had  put  it  away  in  some  safe 
place  or  other,  either  in  cellar  or  garret,  no 
doubt ;  so  Septimius,  in  the  intervals  of  his  other 
occupations,  devoted  several  days  to  the  search  ; 
and  not  to  weary  the  reader  with  the  particulars 
of  the  quest  for  an  old  box,  suffice  it  to  say  that 
he  at  last  found  it,  amongst  various  other  antique 
rubbish,  in  a  corner  of  the  garret. 

It  was  a  very  rusty  old  thing,  not  more  than 
a  foot  in  length,  and  half  as  much  in  height  and 
breadth ;  but  most  ponderously  iron-bound,  with 
bars,  and  corners,  and  all  sorts  of  fortification  ; 
looking  very  much  like  an  ancient  almsbox, 
such  as  are  to  be  seen  in  the  older  rural  churches 
of  England,  and  which  seem  to  intimate  great 
distrust  of  those  to  whom  the  funds  are  com 
mitted.  Indeed,  there  might  be  a  shrewd  sus- 
272 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

picion  that  some  ancient  church  beadle  among 
Septimius's  forefathers,  when  emigrating  from 
England,  had  taken  the  opportunity  of  bringing 
the  poorbox  along  with  him.  On  looking  close, 
too,  there  were  rude  embellishments  on  the  lid 
and  sides  of  the  box  in  long-rusted  steel,  designs 
such  as  the  Middle  Ages  were  rich  in  ;  a  repre 
sentation  of  Adam  and  Eve,  or  of  Satan  and  a 
soul,  nobody  could  tell  which  ;  but,  at  any  rate, 
an  illustration  of  great  value  and  interest.  Sep- 
timius  looked  at  this  ugly,  rusty,  ponderous  old 
box,  so  worn  and  battered  with  time,  and  recol 
lected  with  a  scornful  smile  the  legends  of  which 
it  was  the  object ;  all  of  which  he  despised  and 
discredited,  just  as  much  as  he  did  that  story  in 
the  Arabian  Nights,  where  a  demon  comes  out 
of  a  copper  vase,  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  that  covers 
the  seashore  ;  for  he  was  singularly  invulnera 
ble  to  all  modes  of  superstition,  all  nonsense, 
except  his  own.  But  that  one  mode  was  ever  in 
full  force  and  operation  with  him.  He  felt 
strongly  convinced  that  inside  the  old  box  was 
something  that  appertained  to  his  destiny ;  the 
key  that  he  had  taken  from  the  dead  man's 
breast,  had  that  come  down  through  time,  and 
across  the  sea,  and  had  a  man  died  to  bring  and 
deliver  it  to  him,  merely  for  nothing  ?  It  could 
not  be. 

He  looked  at  the  old,  rusty,  elaborated  lock 
of  the  little  receptacle.    It  was  much  flourished 
273 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

about  with  what  was  once  polished  steel ;  and 
certainly,  when  thus  polished,  and  the  steel 
bright  with  which  it  was  hooped,  defended,  and 
inlaid,  it  must  have  been  a  thing  fit  to  appear  in 
any  cabinet ;  though  now  the  oak  was  worm- 
eaten  as  an  old  coffin,  and  the  rust  of  the  iron 
came  off  red  on  Septimius's  fingers,  after  he  had 
been  fumbling  at  it.  He  looked  at  the  curious 
old  silver  key,  too,  and  fancied  that  he  discov 
ered  in  its  elaborate  handle  some  likeness  to  the 
ornaments  about  the  box;  at  any  rate,  this  he 
determined  was  the  key  of  fate,  and  he  was  just 
applying  it  to  the  lock  when  somebody  tapped 
familiarly  at  the  door,  having  opened  the  outer 
one,  and  stepped  in  with  a  manly  stride.  Sep- 
timius,  inwardly  blaspheming,  as  secluded  men 
are  apt  to  do  when  any  interruption  comes,  and 
especially  when  it  comes  at  some  critical  moment 
of  projection,  left  the  box  as  yet  unbroached, 
and  said,  "  Come  in." 

The  door  opened,  and  Robert  Hagburn  en 
tered  ;  looking  so  tall  and  stately,  that  Septi- 
mius  hardly  knew  him  for  the  youth  with  whom 
he  had  grown  up  familiarly.  He  had  on  the 
Revolutionary  dress  of  buff  and  blue,  with  de 
corations  that  to  the  initiated  eye  denoted  him 
an  officer  ;  and  certainly  there  was  a  kind  of 
authority  in  his  look  and  manner,  indicating 
that  heavy  responsibilities,  critical  moments,  had 
274 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

educated  him,  and  turned  the  ploughboy  into  a 
man. 

"  Is  it  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Septimius.  "  I 
scarcely  knew  you.  How  war  has  altered  you  !  " 

"  And  I  may  say,  Is  it  you  r  for  you  are 
much  altered  likewise,  my  old  friend.  Study 
wears  upon  you  terribly.  You  will  be  an  old 
man,  at  this  rate,  before  you  know  you  are  a 
young  one.  You  will  kill  yourself,  as  sure  as 
a  gun  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Septimius,  rather 
startled,  for  the  queer  absurdity  of  the  position 
struck  him,  if  he  should  so  exhaust  and  wear 
himself  as  to  die,  just  at  the  moment  when  he 
should  have  found  out  the  secret  of  everlasting 
life.  "  But  though  I  look  pale,  I  am  very  vig 
orous.  Judging  from  that  scar,  slanting  down 
from  your  temple,  you  have  been  nearer  death 

than  you    now  think   me,  though   in   another 

ii 
way. 

"  Yes,"  said  Robert  Hagburn  ;  "  but  in  hot 
blood,  and  for  a  good  cause,  who  cares  for 
death  r  And  yet  I  love  life  ;  none  better,  while 
it  lasts,  and  I  love  it  in  all  its  looks  and  turns 
and  surprises,  —  there  is  so  much  to  be  got  out 
of  it,  in  spite  of  all  that  people  say.  Youth  is 
sweet,  with  its  fiery  enterprise,  and  I  suppose 
mature  manhood  will  be  just  as  much  so,  though 
in  a  calmer  way,  and  age,  quieter  still,  will  have 
2/5 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

its  own  merits,  —  the  thing  is  only  to  do  with 
life  what  we  ought,  and  what  is  suited  to  each 
of  its  stages  ;  do  all,  enjoy  all,  —  and  I  suppose 
these  two  rules  amount  to  the  same  thing. 
Only  catch  real  earnest  hold  of  life,  not  play 
with  it,  and  not  defer  one  part  of  it  for  the 
sake  of  another,  then  each  part  of  life  will  do 
for  us  what  was  intended.  People  talk  of  the 
hardships  of  military  service,  of  the  miseries 
that  we  undergo  righting  for  our  country.  I 
have  undergone  my  share,  I  believe,  —  hard 
toil  in  the  wilderness,  hunger,  extreme  weari 
ness,  pinching  cold,  the  torture  of  a  wound, 
peril  of  death  ;  and  really  I  have  been  as  happy 
through  it  as  ever  I  was  at  my  mother's  cosy 
fireside  of  a  winter's  evening.  If  I  had  died,  I 
doubt  not  my  last  moments  would  have  been 
happy.  There  is  no  use  of  life,  but  just  to  find 
out  what  is  fit  for  us  to  do  ;  and,  doing  it,  it 
seems  to  be  little  matter  whether  we  live  or  die 
in  it.  God  does  not  want  our  work,  but  only 
our  willingness  to  work ;  at  least,  the  last  seems 
to  answer  all  his  purposes." 

"  This  is  a  comfortable  philosophy  of  yours," 
said  Septimius  rather  contemptuously,  and  yet 
enviously.  "Where  did  you  get  it,  Robert  ?" 

"  Where  ?  Nowhere  ;  it  came  to  me  on  the 
march  ;  and  though  I  can't  say  that  I  thought 
it  when  the  bullets  pattered  into  the  snow 
about  me,  in  those  narrow  streets  of  Quebec, 

276 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

yet,  I  suppose,  it  was  in  my  mind  then  ;  for, 
as  I  tell  you,  I  was  very  cheerful  and  con 
tented.  And  you,  Septimius  ?  I  never  saw 
such  a  discontented,  unhappy-looking  fellow  as 
you  are.  You  have  had  a  harder  time  in  peace 
than  I  in  war.  You  have  not  found  what  you 
seek,  whatever  that  may  be.  Take  my  advice. 
Give  yourself  to  the  next  work  that  comes  to 
hand.  The  war  offers  place  to  all  of  us  ;  we 
ought  to  be  thankful,  —  the  most  joyous  of  all 
the  generations  before  or  after  us,  —  since  Provi 
dence  gives  us  such  good  work  to  live  for,  or  such 
a  good  opportunity  to  die.  It  is  worth  living 
for,  just  to  have  the  chance  to  die  so  well  as  a 
man  may  in  these  days.  Come,  be  a  soldier. 
Be  a  chaplain,  since  your  education  lies  that 
way  ;  and  you  will  find  that  nobody  in  peace 
prays  so  well  as  we  do,  we  soldiers  ;  and  you 
shall  not  be  debarred  from  fighting,  too  ;  if 
war  is  holy  work,  a  priest  may  lawfully  do  it, 
as  well  as  pray  for  it.  Come  with  us,  my  old 
friend  Septimius,  be  my  comrade,  and,  whether 
you  live  or  die,  you  will  thank  me  for  getting 
you  out  of  the  yellow  forlornness  in  which  you 
go  on,  neither  living  nor  dying." 

Septimius  looked  at  Robert  Hagburn  in  sur 
prise  ;  so  much  was  he  altered  and  improved 
by  this  brief  experience  of  war,  adventure,  re 
sponsibility,  which  he  had  passed  through.  Not 
iess  than  the  effect  produced  on  his  loutish,  rus- 
277 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tic  air  and  deportment,  developing  his  figure, 
seeming  to  make  him  taller,  setting  free  the 
manly  graces  that  lurked  within  his  awkward 
frame,  —  not  less  was  the  effect  on  his  mind 
and  moral  nature,  giving  freedom  of  ideas,  sim 
ple  perception  of  great  thoughts,  a  free  natural 
chivalry  ;  so  that  the  knight,  the  Homeric  war 
rior,  the  hero,  seemed  to  be  here,  or  possible 
to  be  here,  in  the  young  New  England  rustic  ; 
and  all  that  history  has  given,  and  hearts 
throbbed  and  sighed  and  gloried  over,  of  patri 
otism  and  heroic  feeling  and  action,  might  be 
repeated,  perhaps,  in  the  life  and  death  of  this 
familiar  friend  and  playmate  of  his,  whom  he 
had  valued  not  overhighly,  —  Robert  Hagburn. 
He  had  merely  followed  out  his  natural  heart, 
boldly  and  singly,  —  doing  the  first  good  thing 
that  came  to  hand,  —  and  here  was  a  hero. 

"You  almost  make  me  envy  you,  Robert," 
said  he,  sighing. 

"  Then  why  not  come  with  me  ? "  asked 
Robert. 

"  Because  I  have  another  destiny,"  said  Sep- 
timius. 

"  Well,  you  are  mistaken ;  be  sure  of  that," 
said  Robert.  "  This  is  not  a  generation  for 
study,  and  the  making  of  books ;  that  may 
come  by  and  by.  This  great  fight  has  need  of 
all  men  to  carry  it  on,  in  one  way  or  another ; 
and  no  man  will  do  well,  even  for  himself,  who 

278 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tries  to  avoid  his  share  in  it.  But  I  have  said 
my  say.  And  now,  Septimius,  the  war  takes 
much  of  a  man,  but  it  does  not  take  him  all, 
and  what  it  leaves  is  all  the  more  full  of  life 
and  health  thereby.  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you  about  this." 

"  Say  it,  then,  Robert,"  said  Septimius,  who, 
having  got  over  the  first  excitement  of  the  in 
terview,  and  the  sort  of  exhilaration  produced 
by  the  healthful  glow  of  Robert's  spirit,  began 
secretly  to  wish  that  it  might  close,  and  to  be 
permitted  to  return  to  his  solitary  thoughts 
again.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  nothing,"  said  Robert,  looking  rather 
confused,  "  since  all  is  settled.  The  fact  is,  my 
old  friend,  as  perhaps  you  have  seen,  I  have 
very  long  had  an  eye  upon  your  sister  Rose  ; 
yes,  from  the  time  we  went  together  to  the  old 
schoolhouse,  where  she  now  teaches  children 
like  what  we  were  then.  The  war  took  me 
away,  and  in  good  time,  for  I  doubt  if  Rose 
would  ever  have  cared  enough  for  me  to  be  my 
wife,  if  I  had  stayed  at  home,  a  country  lout, 
as  I  was  getting  to  be,  in  shirt  sleeves  and  bare 
feet.  But  now,  you  see,  I  have  come  back,  and 
this  whole  great  war,  to  her  woman's  heart,  is 
represented  in  me,  and  makes  me  heroic,  so  to 
speak,  and  strange,  and  yet  her  old  familiar 
lover.  So  I  found  her  heart  tenderer  for  me 
than  it  was  ;  and,  in  short.  Rose  has  consented 
279 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

to  be  my  wife,  and  we  mean  to  be  married  in  a 
week  ;  my  furlough  permits  little  delay." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  said  Septimius,  who,  im 
mersed  in  his  own  pursuits,  had  taken  no  notice 
of  the  growing  affection  between  Robert  and  his 
sister.  "  Do  you  think  it  well  to  snatch  this 
little  lull  that  is  allowed  you  in  the  wild  striv 
ing  of  war  to  try  to  make  a  peaceful  home  ? 
Shall  you  like  to  be  summoned  from  it  soon  ? 
Shall  you  be  as  cheerful  among  dangers  after 
wards,  when  one  sword  may  cut  down  two  hap 
pinesses  ? " 

"  There  is  something  in  what  you  say,  and  I 
have  thought  of  it,"  said  Robert,  sighing.  "  But 
I  can't  tell  how  it  is  ;  but  there  is  something  in 
this  uncertainty,  this  peril,  this  cloud  before  us, 
that  makes  it  sweeter  to  love  and  to  be  loved 
than  amid  all  seeming  quiet  and  serenity. 
Really,  I  think,  if  there  were  to  be  no  death, 
th.e  beauty  of  life  would  be  all  tame.  So  we 
take  our  chance,  or  our  dispensation  of  Provi 
dence,  and  are  going  to  love,  and  to  be  married, 
just  as  confidently  as  if  we  were  sure  of  living 
forever." 

cc  Well,  old  fellow,"  said  Septimius,  with  more 
cordiality  and  outgush  of  heart  than  he  had  felt 
for  a  long  while,  "  there  is  no  man  whom  1 
should  be  happier  to  call  brother.  Take  Rose, 
and  all  happiness  along  with  her.  She  is  a  good 
girl,  and  not  in  the  least  like  me.  May  you 
280 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

live  out  your  threescore  years  and  ten,  and 
every  one  of  them  be  happy." 

Little  more  passed,  and  Robert  Hagburn 
took  his  leave  with  a  hearty  shake  of  Septi- 
mius's  hand,  too  conscious  of  his  own  happiness 
to  be  quite  sensible  how  much  the  latter  was 
self-involved,  strange,  anxious,  separated  from 
healthy  life  and  interests  ;  and  Septimius,  as 
soon  as  Robert  had  disappeared,  locked  the  door 
behind  him,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  apply 
the  silver  key  to  the  lock  of  the  old  strong  box. 

The  lock  resisted  somewhat,  being  rusty,  as 
might  well  be  supposed  after  so  many  years  since 
it  wras  opened  ;  but  it  finally  allowed  the  key  to 
turn,  and  Septimius,  with  a  good  deal  of  flutter 
at  his  heart,  opened  the  lid.  The  interior  had 
a  very  different  aspect  from  that  of  the  exterior  ; 
for,  whereas  the  latter  looked  so  old,  this,  hav 
ing  been  kept  from  the  air,  looked  about  as  new 
as  when  shut  up  from  light  and  air  two  centuries 
ago,  less  or  more.  It  was  lined  with  ivory, 
beautifully  carved  in  figures,  according  to  the 
art  which  the  mediaeval  people  possessed  in  great 
perfection  ;  and  probably  the  box  had  been  a 
lady's  jewel  casket  formerly,  and  had  glowed 
with  rich  lustre  and  bright  colors  at  former 
openings.  But  now  there  was  nothing  in  it  of 
that  kind,  —  nothing  in  keeping  with  those  fig 
ures  carved  in  the  ivory  representing  some 
mythical  subjects,  —  nothing  but  some  papers 
281 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

in  the  bottom  of  the  box  written  over  in  an 
ancient  hand,  which  Septimius  at  once  fancied 
that  he  recognized  as  that  of  the  manuscript 
and  recipe  which  he  had  found  on  the  bre?stof 
the  young  soldier.  He  eagerly  seized  them,  but 
was  infinitely  disappointed  to  find  that  they  did 
not  seem  to  refer  at  all  to  the  subjects  treated 
by  the  former,  but  related  to  pedigrees  and 
genealogies,  and  were  in  reference  to  an  Eng 
lish  family  and  some  member  of  it  who,  two 
centuries  before,  had  crossed  the  sea  to  America, 
and  who,  in  this  way,  had  sought  to  preserve 
his  connection  with  his  native  stock,  so  as  to 
be  able,  perhaps,  to  prove  it  for  himself  or  his 
descendants  ;  and  there  was  reference  to  docu 
ments  and  records  in  England  in  confirmation 
of  the  genealogy.  Septimius  saw  that  this  paper 
had  been  drawn  up  by  an  ancestor  of  his  own, 
the  unfortunate  man  who  had  been  hanged  for 
witchcraft ;  but  so  earnest  had  been  his  expecta 
tion  of  something  different,  that  he  flung  the 
old  papers  down  with  bitter  indifference. 

Then  again  he  snatched  them  up,  and  con 
temptuously  read  them,  —  those  proofs  of  de 
scent  through  generations  of  esquires  and 
knights,  who  had  been  renowned  in  war  ;  and 
there  seemed,  too,  to  be  running  through  the 
family  a  certain  tendency  to  letters,  for  three 
were  designated  as  of  the  colleges  of  Oxford  or 
Cambridge  ;  and  against  one  there  was  the  note, 
282 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

<c  he  that  sold  himself  to  Sathan  ;  "  and  another 
seemed  to  have  been  a  follower  of  Wickliffe  ; 
and  they  had  murdered  kings,  and  been  be 
headed,  and  banished,  and  what  not ;  so  that 
the  age-long  life  of  this  ancient  family  had  not 
been  after  all  a  happy  or  very  prosperous  one, 
though  they  had  kept  their  estate,  in  one  or 
another  descendant,  since  the  Conquest.  It  was 
not  wholly  without  interest  that  Septimius  saw 
that  this  ancient  descent,  this  connection  with 
noble  families,  and  intermarriages  with  names, 
some  of  which  he  recognized  as  known  in  Eng 
lish  history,  all  referred  to  his  own  family,  and 
seemed  to  centre  in  himself,  the  last  of  a  poverty- 
stricken  line,  which  had  dwindled  down  into 
obscurity,  and  into  rustic  labor  and  humble  toil, 
reviving  in  him  a  little  ;  yet  how  little,  unless 
he  fulfilled  his  strange  purpose.  Was  it  not 
better  worth  his  while  to  take  this  English  posi 
tion  here  so  strangely  offered  him  ?  He  had 
apparently  slain  unwittingly  the  only  person 
who  could  have  contested  his  rights, — the 
young  man  who  had  so  strangely  brought  him 
the  hope  of  unlimited  life  at  the  same  time  that 
he  was  making  room  for  him  among  his  fore 
fathers.  What  a  change  in  his  lot  would  have 
been  here,  for  there  seemed  to  be  some  preten 
sions  to  a  title,  too,  from  a  barony  which  was 
floating  about  and  occasionally  moving  out  of 
abeyancy  ! 

283 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

<c  Perhaps,"  said  Septimius  to  himself,  "  I 
may  hereafter  think  it  worth  while  to  assert  my 
claim  to  these  possessions,  to  this  position  amid 
an  ancient  aristocracy,  and  try  that  mode  of  life 
for  one  generation.  Yet  there  is  something  in 
my  destiny  incompatible,  of  course,  with  the 
continued  possession  of  an  estate.  I  must  be, 
of  necessity,  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
changing  place  at  short  intervals,  disappearing 
suddenly  and  entirely  ;  else  the  foolish,  short 
lived  multitude  and  mob  of  mortals  will  be  en 
raged  with  one  who  seems  their  brother,  yet 
whose  countenance  will  never  be  furrowed  with 
his  age,  nor  his  knees  totter,  nor  his  force  be 
abated  ;  their  little  brevity  will  be  rebuked  by 
his  age-long  endurance,  above  whom  the  oaken 
rooftree  of  a  thousand  years  would  crumble, 
while  still  he  would  be  hale  and  strong.  So 
that  this  house,  or  any  other,  would  be  but  a 
resting  place  of  a  day,  and  then  I  must  away 
into  another  obscurity." 

With  almost  a  regret,  he  continued  to  look 
over  the  documents  until  he  reached  one  of  the 
persons  recorded  in  the  line  of  pedigree,  —  a 
worthy,  apparently,  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 
co  whom  was  attributed  a  title  of  Doctor  in 
Utriusque  Juris  ;  and  against  his  name  was  a 
verse  of  Latin  written,  for  what  purpose  Septi 
mius  knew  not,  for,  on  reading  it,  it  appeared  to 
have  no  discoverable  appropriateness  ;  but  sud- 
284 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

denly  he  remembered  the  blotted  and  imperfect 
hieroglyphical  passage  in  the  recipe.  He  thought 
an  instant,  and  was  convinced  this  was  the  full 
expression  and  outwriting  of  that  crabbed  little 
mystery  ;  and  that  here  was  part  of  that  secret 
writing  for  which  the  Age  of  Elizabeth  was  so 
famous  and  so  dexterous.  His  mind  had  a  flash 
of  light  upon  it,  and  from  that  moment  he  was 
enabled  to  read  not  only  the  recipe  but  the 
rules,  and  all  the  rest  of  that  mysterious  docu 
ment,  in  a  way  which  he  had  never  thought  of 
before  ;  to  discern  that  it  was  not  to  be  taken 
literally  and  simply,  but  had  a  hidden  process 
involved  in  it  that  made  the  \vhole  thing  infi 
nitely  deeper  than  he  had  hitherto  deemed  it  to 
be.  His  brain  reeled,  he  seemed  to  have  taken 
a  draught  of  some  liquor  that  opened  infinite 
depths  before  him,  he  could  scarcely  refrain 
from  giving  a  shout  of  triumphant  exultation, 
the  house  could  not  contain  him,  he  rushed  up 
to  his  hilltop,  and  there,  after  walking  swiftly 
to  and  fro,  at  length  flung  himself  on  the  little 
hillock,  and  burst  forth,  as  if  addressing  him 
who  slept  beneath. 

"  O  brother,  O  friend  !  "  said  he,  "  I  thank 
thee  for  thy  matchless  beneficence  to  me  ;  for 
all  which  I  rewarded  thee  with  this  little  spot 
on  my  hilltop.  Thou  wast  very  good,  very 
kind.  It  would  not  have  been  well  for  thee,  a 
youth  of  fiery  joys  and  passions,  loving  to  laugh, 

285 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

loving  the  lightness  and  sparkling  brilliancy  of 
life,  to  take  this  boon  to  thyself;  for,  O  brother ! 
I  see,  I  see,  it  requires  a  strong  spirit,  capable 
of  much  lonely  endurance,  able  to  be  sufficient 
to  itself,  loving  not  too  much,  dependent  on 
no  sweet  ties  of  affection,  to  be  capable  of  the 
mighty  trial  which  now  devolves  on  me.  I 
thank  thee,  O  kinsman  !  Yet  thou,  I  feel,  hast 
the  better  part,  who  didst  so  soon  lie  down  to 
rest,  who  hast  done  forever  with  this  trouble 
some  world,  which  it  is  mine  to  contemplate 
from  age  to  age,  and  to  sum  up  the  meaning  of 
it.  Thou  art  disporting  thyself  in  other  spheres. 
I  enjoy  the  high,  severe,  fearful  office  of  living 
here,  and  of  being  the  minister  of  Providence 
from  one  age  to  many  successive  ones." 

In  this  manner  he  raved,  as  never  before,  in 
a  strain  of  exalted  enthusiasm,  securely  treading 
on  air,  and  sometimes  stopping  to  shout  aloud, 
and  feeling  as  if  he  should  burst  if  he  did  not 
do  so  ;  and  his  voice  came  back  to  him  again 
from  the  low  hills  on  the  other  side  of  the 
broad,  level  valley,  and  out  of  the  woods  afar, 
mocking  him  ;  or  as  if  it  were  airy  spirits,  that 
knew  how  it  was  all  to  be,  confirming  his  cry, 
saying, cc  It  shall  be  so,"  cc  Thou  hast  found  it  at 
last,"  "Thou  art  immortal."  And  it  seemed  as 
if  Nature  were  inclined  to  celebrate  his  triumph 
over  herself;  for,  above  the  woods  that  crowned 
the  hill  to  the  northward,  there  were  shoots  and 
286 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

streams  of  radiance,  a  white,  a  red,  a  many-col 
ored  lustre,  blazing  up  high  towards  the  zenith, 
dancing  up,  flitting  down,  dancing  up  again  ;  so 
that  it  seemed  as  if  spirits  were  keeping  a  revel 
there.  The  leaves  of  the  trees  on  the  hillside, 
all  except  the  evergreens,  had  now  mostly  fallen 
with  the  autumn  ;  so  that  Septimius  was  seen  by 
the  few  passers-by,  in  the  decline  of  the  after 
noon,  passing  to  and  fro  along  his  path,  wildly 
gesticulating,  and  heard  to  shout  so  that  the 
echoes  came  from  all  directions  to  answer  him. 
After  nightfall,  too,  in  the  harvest  moonlight,  a 
shadow  was  still  seen  passing  there,  waving  its 
arms  in  shadowy  triumph  ;  so,  the  next  day, 
there  were  various  goodly  stories  afloat  and  astir, 
coming  out  of  successive  mouths,  more  won 
drous  at  each  birth  ;  the  simplest  form  of  the 
story  being,  that  Septimius  Felton  had  at  last 
gone  raving  mad  on  the  hilltop  that  he  was  so 
fond  of  haunting;  and  those  who  listened  to  his 
shrieks  said  that  he  was  calling  to  the  Devil ; 
and  some  said  that  by  certain  exorcisms  he  had 
caused  the  appearance  of  a  battle  in  the  air, 
charging  squadrons,  cannon  flashes,  champions 
encountering ;  all  of  which  foreboded  some  real 
battle  to  be  fought  with  the  enemies  of  the 
country ;  and  as  the  battle  of  Monmouth  chanced 
to  occur,  either  the  very  next  day,  or  about  that 
time,  this  was  supposed  to  be  either  caused  or 
foretold  by  Septimius's  eccentricities  ;  and  as  the 
287 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

battle  was  not  very  favorable  to  our  arms,  the 
patriotism  of  Septimius  suffered  much  in  popu 
lar  estimation. 

But  he  knew  nothing,  thought  nothing,  cared 
nothing  about  his  country,  or  his  country's  bat 
tles  ;  he  was  as  sane  as  he  had  been  for  a  year 
past,  and  was  wise  enough,  though  merely  by 
instinct,  to  throw  off  some  of  his  superfluous 
excitement  by  these  wild  gestures,  with  wild 
shouts,  and  restless  activity  ;  and  when  he  had 
partly  accomplished  this  he  returned  to  the 
house,  and,  late  as  it  was,  kindled  his  fire,  and 
began  anew  the  processes  of  chemistry,  now  en 
lightened  by  the  late  teachings.  A  new  agent 
seemed  to  him  to  mix  itself  up  with  his  toil  and 
to  forward  his  purpose  ;  something  helped  him 
along ;  everything  became  facile  to  his  manipu 
lation,  clear  to  his  thought.  In  this  way  he 
spent  the  night,  and  when  at  sunrise  he  let  in 
the  eastern  light  upon  his  study,  the  thing  was 
done. 

Septimius  had  achieved  it.  That  is  to  say,  he 
had  succeeded  in  amalgamating  his  materials  so 
that  they  acted  upon  one  another,  and  in  ac 
cordance  ;  and  had  produced  a  result  that  had  a 
subsistence  in  itself,  and  a  right  to  be ;  a  some 
thing  potent  and  substantial ;  each  ingredient 
contributing  its  part  to  form  a  new  essence, 
which  was  as  real  and  individual  as  anything  it 
was  formed  from.  But  in  order  to  perfect  it, 

288 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

there  was  necessity  that  the  powers  of  nature 
should  act  quietly  upon  it  through  a  month  of 
sunshine  ;  that  the  moon,  too,  should  have  its 
part  in  the  production  ;  and  so  he  must  wait 
patiently  for  this.  Wait!  surely  he  would! 
Had  he  not  time  for  waiting  ?  Were  he  to  wrait 
till  old  age,  it  would  not  be  too  much  ;  for  all 
future  time  would  have  it  in  charge  to  repay 
him. 

So  he  poured  the  inestimable  liquor  into  a 
glass  vase,  well  secured  from  the  air,  and  placed 
it  in  the  sunshine,  shifting  it  from  one  sunny 
window  to  another,  in  order  that  it  might  ripen ; 
moving  it  gently  lest  he  should  disturb  the  liv 
ing  spirit  that  he  knew  to  be  in  it.  And  he 
watched  it  from  day  to  day,  watched  the  reflec 
tions  in  it,  watched  its  lustre,  which  seemed  to 
him  to  grow  greater  day  by  day,  as  if  it  imbibed 
the  sunlight  into  it.  Never  was  there  anything 
so  bright  as  this.  It  changed  its  hue,  too,  grad 
ually,  being  now  a  rich  purple,  now  a  crimson, 
now  a  violet,  now  a  blue ;  going  through  all 
these  prismatic  colors  without  losing  any  of  its 
brilliance,  and  never  was  there  such  a  hue  as  the 
sunlight  took  in  falling  through  it  and  resting 
on  his  floor.  And  strange  and  beautiful  it  was, 
too,  to  look  through  this  medium  at  the  outer 
world,  and  see  how  it  was  glorified  and  made 
anew,  and  did  not  look  like  the  same  world, 
although  there  were  all  its  familiar  marks.  And 
289 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

then,  past  his  window,  seen  through  this,  went 
the  farmer  and  his  wife,  on  saddle  and  pillion, 
jogging  to  meeting-house  or  market ;  and  the 
very  dog,  the  cow  coming  home  from  pasture, 
the  old  familiar  faces  of  his  childhood,  looked 
differently.  And  so  at  last,  at  the  end  of  the 
month,  it  settled  into  a  most  deep  and  brilliant 
crimson,  as  if  it  were  the  essence  of  the  blood 
of  the  young  man  whom  he  had  slain  ;  the  flower 
being  now  triumphant,  it  had  given  its  own  hue 
to  the  whole  mass,  and  had  grown  brighter 
every  day  ;  so  that  it  seemed  to  have  inherent 
light,  as  if  it  were  a  planet  by  itself,  a  heart  of 
crimson  fire  burning  within  it. 

And  when  this  had  been  done,  and  there  was 
no  more  change,  showing  that  the  digestion  was 
perfect,  then  he  took  it  and  placed  it  where  the 
changing  moon  would  fall  upon  it ;  and  then 
again  he  watched  it,  covering  it  in  darkness  by 
day,  revealing  it  to  the  moon  by  night ;  and 
watching  it  here,  too,  through  more  changes. 
And  by  and  by  he  perceived  that  the  deep  crim 
son  hue  was  departing,  —  not  fading;  we  can 
not  say  that,  because  of  the  prodigious  lustre 
which  still  pervaded  it,  and  was  not  less  strong 
than  ever  ;  but  certainly  the  hue  became  fainter, 
now  a  rose  color,  now  fainter,  fainter  still,  till 
there  was  only  left  the  purest  whiteness  of  the 
moon  itself;  a  change  that  somewhat  disap 
pointed  and  grieved  Septimius,  though  still  it 
290 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

seemed  fit  that  the  water  of  life  should  be  of 
no  one  richness,  because  it  must  combine  all. 
As  the  absorbed  young  man  gazed  through  the 
lonely  nights  at  his  beloved  liquor,  he  fancied 
sometimes  that  he  could  see  wonderful  things 
in  the  crystal  sphere  of  the  vase  ;  as  in  Doctor 
Dee's  magic  crystal  used  to  be  seen,  which  now 
lies  in  the  British  Museum  ;  representations,  it 
might  be,  of  things  in  the  far  past,  or  in  the 
further  future,  scenes  in  which  he  himself  was 
to  act,  persons  yet  unborn,  the  beautiful  and 
the  wise,  with  whom  he  was  to  be  associated, 
palaces  and  towers,  modes  of  hitherto  unseen 
architecture,  that  old  hall  in  England  to  which 
he  had  a  hereditary  right,  with  its  gables,  and 
its  smooth  lawn  ;  the  witch  meetings  in  which 
his  ancestor  used  to  take  part ;  Aunt  Keziah  on 
her  deathbed  ;  and,  flitting  through  all,  the  shade 
of  Sibyl  Dacy,  eying  him  from  secret  nooks,  or 
some  remoteness,  with  her  peculiar  mischievous 
smile,  beckoning  him  into  the  sphere.  All  such 
visions  would  he  see,  and  then  become  aware 
that  he  had  been  in  a  dream,  superinduced  by 
too  much  watching,  too  intent  thought ;  so  that 
living  among  so  many  dreams,  he  was  almost 
afraid  that  he  should  find  himself  waking  out  of 
yet  another,  and  find  that  the  vase  itself  and 
the  liquid  it  contained  were  also  dream-stuff. 
But  no  ;  these  were  real. 

There  was  one   change  that  surprised  him, 
291 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

although  he  accepted  it  without  doubt,  and,  in 
deed,  it  did  imply  a  wonderful  efficacy,  at  least 
singularity,  in  the  newly  converted  liquid.  It 
grew  strangely  cool  in  temperature  in  the  latter 
part  of  his  watching  it.  It  appeared  to  imbibe 
its  coldness  from  the  cold,  chaste  moon,  until 
it  seemed  to  Septimius  that  it  was  colder  than 
ice  itself;  the  mist  gathered  upon  the  crystal 
vase  as  upon  a  tumbler  of  iced  water  in  a  warm 
room.  Some  say  it  actually  gathered  thick  with 
frost,  crystallized  into  a  thousand  fantastic  and 
beautiful  shapes,  but  this  I  do  not  know  so 
well.  Only  it  was  very  cold.  Septimius  pon 
dered  upon  it,  and  thought  he  saw  that  life  it 
self  was  cold,  individual  in  its  being,  a  high, 
pure  essence,  chastened  from  all  heats ;  cold, 
therefore,  and  therefore  invigorating. 

Thus  much,  inquiring  deeply,  and  with  pain 
ful  research  into  the  liquid  which  Septimius  con 
cocted,  have  I  been  able  to  learn  about  it,  —  its 
aspect,  its  properties ;  and  now  I  suppose  it  to 
be  quite  perfect,  and  that  nothing  remains  but 
to  put  it  to  such  use  as  he  had  so  long  been 
laboring  for.  But  this,  somehow  or  other,  he 
found  in  himself  a  strong  reluctance  to  do  ;  he 
paused,  as  it  were,  at  the  point  where  his  path 
way  separated  itself  from  that  of  other  men,  and 
meditated  whether  it  were  worth  while  to  give 
up  everything  that  Providence  had  provided,  and 
take  instead  only  this  lonely  gift  of  immortal  life. 
292 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Not  that  he  ever  really  had  any  doubt  about  it; 
no,  indeed  ;  but  it  was  his  security,  his  conscious 
ness  that  he  held  the  bright  sphere  of  all  futu 
rity  in  his  hand,  that  made  him  dally  a  little,  now 
that  he  could  quaff  immortality  as  soon  as  he 
liked. 

Besides,  now  that  he  looked  forward  from  the 
verge  of  mortal  destiny,  the  path  before  him 
seemed  so  very  lonely.  Might  he  not  seek 
some  one  own  friend  —  one  single  heart  —  be 
fore  he  took  the  final  step  ?  There  was  Sibyl 
Dacy  !  O,  what  bliss,  if  that  pale  girl  might 
set  out  with  him  on  his  journey  !  how  sweet, 
how  sweet,  to  wander  with  her  through  the  places 
else  so  desolate  !  for  he  could  but  half  see,  half 
know  things,  without  her  to  help  him.  And 
perhaps  it  might  be  so.  She  must  already  know, 
or  strongly  suspect,  that  he  was  engaged  in  some 
deep,  mysterious  research  ;  it  might  be  that,  with 
her  sources  of  mysterious  knowledge  among  her 
legendary  lore,  she  knew  of  this.  Then,  O,  to 
think  of  those  dreams  which  lovers  have  always 
had,  when  their  new  love  makes  the  old  earth 
seem  so  happy  and  glorious  a  place,  that  not  a 
thousand  nor  an  endless  succession  of  years  can 
exhaust  it,  —  all  those  realized  for  him  and  her! 
If  this  could  not  be,  what  should  he  do  ?  Would 
he  venture  onward  into  such  a  wintry  futurity, 
symbolized,  perhaps,  by  the  coldness  of  the  crys 
tal  goblet  ?  He  shivered  at  the  thought. 
293 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Now,  what  had  passed  between  Septimius  and 
Sibyl  Dacy  is  not  upon  record,  only  that  one 
day  they  were  walking  together  on  the  hilltop, 
or  sitting  by  the  little  hillock,  and  talking  ear 
nestly  together.  Sibyl's  face  was  a  little  flushed 
with  some  excitement,  and  really  she  looked  very 
beautiful ;  and  Septimius's  dark  face,  too,  had  a 
solemn  triumph  in  it  that  made  him  also  beau 
tiful  ;  so  rapt  he  was  after  all  those  watchings, 
and  emaciations,  and  the  pure,  unworldly,  self- 
denying  life  that  he  had  spent.  They  talked  as 
if  there  were  some  foregone  conclusion  on  which 
they  based  what  they  said. 

"  Will  you  not  be  weary  in  the  time  that  we 
shall  spend  together  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  O  no,"  said  Sibyl,  smiling,  "  I  am  sure  that 
it  will  be  very  full  of  enjoyment." 

"Yes,"  said  Septimius,  "though  now  I  must 
remould  my  anticipations  ;  for  I  have  only  dared, 
hitherto,  to  map  out  a  solitary  existence." 

"  And  how  did  you  do  that  ?  "  asked  Sibyl. 

"  O,  there  is  nothing  that  would  come  amiss," 
answered  Septimius  ;  "  for,  truly,  as  I  have  lived 
apart  from  men,  yet  it  is  really  not  because  I 
have  no  taste  for  whatever  humanity  includes  : 
but  I  would  fain,  if  I  might,  live  everybody's 
life  at  once,  or,  since  that  may  not  be,  each  in 
succession.  I  would  try  the  life  of  power,  rul 
ing  men  ;  but  that  might  come  later,  after  I  had 
had  long  experience  of  men,  and  had  lived 
294 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

through  much  history,  and  had  seen,  as  a  disin 
terested  observer,  how  men  might  best  be  influ 
enced  for  their  own  good.  I  would  be  a  great 
traveller  at  first ;  and  as  a  man  newly  coming 
into  possession  of  an  estate  goes  over  it,  and 
views  each  separate  field  and  woodlot,  and  what 
ever  features  it  contains,  so  will  I,  whose  the 
world  is,  because  I  possess  it  forever;  whereas 
all  others  are  but  transitory  guests.  So  will  I 
wander  over  this  world  of  mine,  and  be  ac 
quainted  with  all  its  shores,  seas,  rivers,  moun 
tains,  fields,  and  the  various  peoples  who  in 
habit  them,  and  to  whom  it  is  my  purpose  to 
be  a  benefactor;  for  think  not,  dear  Sibyl,  that 
I  suppose  this  great  lot  of  mine  to  have  devolved 
upon  me  without  great  duties,  —  heavy  and  dif 
ficult  to  fulfil,  though  glorious  in  their  adequate 
fulfilment.  But  for  all  this  there  will  be  time. 
In  a  century  I  shall  partially  have  seen  this 
earth,  and  known  at  least  its  boundaries,  —  have 
gotten  for  myself  the  outline,  to  be  filled  up 
hereafter." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  Sibyl,  "  will  have  my  du 
ties  and  labors  ;  for  while  you  are  wandering 
about  among  men,  I  will  go  among  women,  and 
observe  and  converse  with  them,  from  the  prin 
cess  to  the  peasant  girl  ;  and  will  find  out  what 
is  the  matter,  that  woman  gets  so  large  a  share 
of  human  misery  laid  on  her  weak  shoulders. 
I  will  see  why  it  is  that,  whether  she  be  a  royal 
295 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

princess,  she  has  to  be  sacrificed  to  matters  of 
state,  or  a  cottage  girl,  still  somehow  the  thing 
not  fit  for  her  is  done  ;  and  whether  there  is  or 
no  some  deadly  curse  on  woman,  so  that  she  has 
nothing  to  do,  and  nothing  to  enjoy,  but  only 
to  be  wronged  by  man,  and  still  to  love  him, 
and  despise  herself  for  it,  —  to  be  shaky  in  her 
revenges.  And  then  if,  after  all  this  investiga 
tion,  it  turns  out  —  as  I  suspect  —  that  woman  is 
not  capable  of  being  helped,  that  there  is  some 
thing  inherent  in  herself  that  makes  it  hope 
less  to  struggle  for  her  redemption,  then  what 
shall  I  do  ?  Nay,  I  know  not,  unless  to  preach 
to  the  sisterhood  that  they  all  kill  their  female 
children  as  fast  as  they  are  born,  and  then  let 
the  generations  of  men  manage  as  they  can  ! 
Woman,  so  feeble  and  crazy  in  body,  fair  enough 
sometimes,  but  full  of  infirmities  ;  not  strong, 
with  nerves  prone  to  every  pain  ;  ailing,  full  of 
little  weaknesses,  more  contemptible  than  great 
ones  !  " 

"  That  would  be  a  dreary  end,  Sibyl,"  said 
Septimius.  "  But  I  trust  that  we  shall  be  able 
to  hush  up  this  weary  and  perpetual  wail  of  wo 
mankind  on  easier  terms  than  that.  Well,  dear 
est  Sibyl,  after  we  have  spent  a  hundred  years 
in  examining  into  the  real  state  of  mankind,  and 
another  century  in  devising  and  putting  in  ex 
ecution  remedies  for  his  ills,  until  our  maturer 
thought  has  time  to  perfect  his  cure,  we  shall 
296 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

then  have  earned  a  little  playtime,  —  a  century 
of  pastime,  in  which  we  will  search  out  whatever 
joy  can  be  had  by  thoughtful  people,  and  that 
childlike  sportiveness  which  comes  out  of  grow 
ing  wisdom,  and  enjoyment  ot  every  kind.  We 
will  gather  about  us  everything  beautiful  and 
stately,  a  great  palace,  for  we  shall  then  be  so 
experienced  that  all  riches  will  be  easy  for  us  to 
get ;  with  rich  furniture,  pictures,  statues,  and 
all  royal  ornaments  ;  and  side  by  side  with  this 
life  we  will  have  a  little  cottage,  and  see  which 
is  the  happiest,  for  this  has  always  been  a  dis 
pute.  For  this  century  we  will  neither  toil  nor 
spin,  nor  think  of  anything  beyond  the  day  that 
is  passing  over  us.  There  is  time  enough  to 
do  all  that  we  have  to  do." 

"  A  hundred  years  of  play  !  Will  not  that 
be  tiresome  ?  "  said  Sibyl. 

"  If  it  is,"  said  Septimius,  "  the  next  century 
shall  make  up  for  it ;  for  then  we  will  contrive 
deep  philosophies,  take  up  one  theory  after  an- 
other,and  find  out  its  hollowness  and  inadequacy, 
and  fling  it  aside,  the  rotten  rubbish  that  they 
all  are,  until  we  have  strewn  the  whole  realm  of 
human  thought  with  the  broken  fragments,  all 
smashed  up.  And  then,  on  this  great  mound 
of  broken  potsherds  (like  that  great  Monte  Tes- 
taccio,  which  we  will  go  to  Rome  to  see),  we 
will  build  a  system  that  shall  stand,  and  by  which 
mankind  shall  look  far  into  the  ways  of  Pro- 
297 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

vidence,  and  find  practical  uses  of  the  deepest 
kind  in  what  it  has  thought  merely  specula 
tion.  And  then,  when  the  hundred  years  are 
over,  and  this  great  work  done,  we  will  still  be 
so  free  in  mind,  that  we  shall  see  the  emptiness 
of  our  own  theory,  though  men  see  only  its 
truth.  And  so,  if  we  like  more  of  this  pastime, 
then  shall  another  and  another  century,  and  as 
many  more  as  we  like,  be  spent  in  the  same 
way." 

"  And  after  that  another  playday  ? "  asked 
Sibyl  Dacy. 

"  Yes,'*  said  Septimius,  "  only  it  shall  not  be 
called  so  ;  for  the  next  century  we  will  get 
ourselves  made  rulers  of  the  earth  ;  and  know 
ing  men  so  well,  and  having  so  wrought  our 
theories  of  government  and  what  not,  we  will 
proceed  to  execute  them,  —  which  will  be  as 
easy  to  us  as  a  child's  arrangement  of  its  dolls. 
We  will  smile  superior,  to  see  what  a  facile  thing 
it  is  to  make  a  people  happy.  In  our  reign  of 
a  hundred  years,  we  shall  have  time  to  extin 
guish  errors,  and  make  the  world  see  the  absurd 
ity  of  them  ;  to  substitute  other  methods  of 
government  for  the  old,  bad  ones  ;  to  fit  the 
people  to  govern  itself,  to  do  with  little  gov 
ernment,  to  do  with  none  ;  and  when  this  is 
effected,  we  will  vanish  from  our  loving  people, 
and  be  seen  no  more,  but  be  reverenced  as  gods, 
• —  we,  meanwhile,  being  overlooked,  and  smil- 
298 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ing  to  ourselves,  amid  the  very  crowd  that  is 
looking  for  us." 

"  I  intend,"  said  Sibyl,  making  this  wild  talk 
wilder  by  that  petulance  which  she  so  often 
sho\ved,  —  "I  intend  to  introduce  a  new  fash 
ion  of  dress  when  I  am  queen,  and  that  shall  be 
my  part  of  the  great  reform  which  you  are  go 
ing  to  make.  And  for  my  crown,  I  intend  to 
have  it  of  flowers,  in  which  that  strange  crim 
son  one  shall  be  the  chief;  and  when  I  vanish, 
this  flower  shall  remain  behind,  and  perhaps 
they  shall  have  a  glimpse  of  me  wearing  it  in 
the  crowd.  Well,  what  next  ?  " 

"  After  this,"  said  Septimius,  "  having  seen 
so  much  of  affairs,  and  having  lived  so  many 
hundred  years,  I  will  sit  down  and  write  a  his 
tory,  such  as  histories  ought  to  be,  and  never 
have  been.  And  it  shall  be  so  wise,  and  so 
vivid,  and  so  self-evidently  trr.e,  that  people 
shall  be  convinced  from  it  that  there  is  some 
undying  one  among  them,  because  only  an  eye 
witness  could  have  written  it,  or  could  have 
gained  so  much  wisdom  as  was  needful  for  it." 

"  And  for  my  part  in  the  history,"  said  Sibyl, 
"  I  will  record  the  various  lengths  of  \vomen's 
waists,  and  the  fashion  of  their  sleeves.  What 
next  ?  " 

"  By  this  time,"  said  Septimius,  —  "  how  many 
hundred  years  have  we  now  lived  ?  —  by  this 
time,  I  shall  have  pretty  well  prepared  myself 
299 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

for  what  I  have  been  contemplating  from  the 
first.  I  will  become  a  religious  teacher,  and 
promulgate  a  faith,  and  prove  it  by  prophecies 
and  miracles ;  for  my  long  experience  will  enable 
me  to  do  the  first,  and  the  acquaintance  which 
I  shall  have  formed  with  the  mysteries  of  sci 
ence  will  put  the  latter  at  my  fingers'  ends.  So 
I  will  be  a  prophet,  a  greater  than  Mahomet, 
and  will  put  all  man's  hopes  into  my  doctrine, 
and  make  him  good,  holy,  happy  ;  and  he  shall 
put  up  his  prayers  to  his  Creator,  and  find  them 
answered,  because  they  shall  be  wise,  and  ac 
companied  with  effort.  This  will  be  a  great 
work,  and  may  earn  me  another  rest  and  pas 
time." 

\_He  would  see,  in  one  age,  the  column  raised  in 
memory  of  some  great  deed  of  his  in  a  former  one.~\ 

"And  what  shall  that  be?"  asked  Sibyl 
Dacy. 

"  Why,"  said  Septimius,  looking  askance  at 
her,  and  speaking  with  a  certain  hesitation,  "  I 
have  learned,  Sibyl,  that  it  is  a  wreary  toil  for  a 
man  to  be  always  good,  holy,  and  upright.  In 
my  life  as  a  sainted  prophet,  I  shall  have  some 
what  too  much  of  this  ;  it  will  be  enervating 
and  sickening,  and  I  shall  need  another  kind  of 
diet.  So,  in  the  next  hundred  years,  Sibyl,  — 
in  that  one  little  century,  —  methinks  I  would 
fain  be  what  men  call  wicked.  How  can  I 
know  my  brethren,  unless  I  do  that  once  ?  1 
300 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

would  experience  all.  Imagination  is  only  a 
dream.  I  can  imagine  myself  a  murderer,  and 
all  other  modes  of  crime ;  but  it  leaves  no  real 
impression  on  the  heart.  I  must  live  these 
things/' 

\T*he  rampant  unrestraint,  which  is  the  charac 
teristic  of  wickedness. ~] 

"Good,"  said  Sibyl  quietly;  "and  I  too." 

"  And  thou  too !  "  exclaimed  Septimius. 
"  Not  so,  Sibyl.  I  would  reserve  thee,  good 
and  pure,  so  that  there  may  be  to  me  the  means 
of  redemption,  —  some  stable  hold  in  the  moral 
confusion  that  I  will  create  around  myself, 
whereby  I  shall  by  and  by  get  back  into  order, 
virtue,  and  religion.  Else  all  is  lost,  and  I  may 
become  a  devil,  and  make  my  own  hell  around 
me  ;  so,  Sibyl,  do  thou  be  good  forever,  and 
not  fall  nor  slip  a  moment.  Promise  me  !  " 

"  We  will  consider  about  that  in  some  other 
century,"  replied  Sibyl  composedly.  "  There 
is  time  enough  yet.  What  next  ?  " 

"  Nay,  this  is  enough  for  the  present,"  said 
Septimius.  "  New  vistas  will  open  themselves 
before  us  continually,  as  we  go  onward.  How 
idle  to  think  that  one  little  lifetime  would  ex 
haust  the  world  !  After  hundreds  of  centuries, 
I  feel  as  if  we  might  still  be  on  the  threshold. 
There  is  the  material  world,  for  instance,  to  per 
fect  ;  to  draw  out  the  powers  of  nature,  so  that 
man  shall,  as  it  were,  give  life  to  all  modes  of 
301 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

matter,  and  make  them  his  ministering  servants., 
Swift  ways  of  travel,  by  earth,  sea,  and  air ; 
machines  for  doing  whatever  the  hand  of  man 
now  does,  so  that  we  shall  do  all  but  put  souls 
mto  our  wheelwork  and  watchwork ;  the  modes 
of  making  night  into  day,  of  getting  control 
over  the  weather  and  the  seasons  ;  the  virtues 
of  plants,  —  these  are  some  of  the  easier  things 
thou  shalt  help  me  do." 

"  I  have  no  taste  for  that,"  said  Sibyl,  "  un 
less  I  could  make  an  embroidery  worked  of 
steel." 

"  And  so,  Sibyl,"  continued  Septimius,  pur 
suing  his  strain  of  solemn  enthusiasm,  inter 
mingled  as  it  was  with  wild,  excursive  vagaries, 
"we  will  go  on  as  many  centuries  as  we  choose. 
Perhaps, —  yet  I  think  not  so,  —  perhaps,  how 
ever,  in  the  course  of  lengthened  time,  we  may 
find  that  the  world  is  the  same  always,  and 
mankind  the  same,  and  all  possibilities  of  human 
fortune  the  same  ;  so  that  by  and  by  we  shall 
discover  that  the  same  old  scenery  serves  the 
world's  stage  in  all  ages,  and  that  the  story  is 
always  the  same  ;  yes,  and  the  actors  always  the 
same,  though  none  but  we  can  be  aware  of  it ; 
and  that  the  actors  and  spectators  would  grow 
weary  of  it,  were  they  not  bathed  in  forgetful 
sleep,  and  so  think  themselves  new  made  in  each 
successive  lifetime.  We  may  find  that  the  stuff 
of  the  world's  drama,  and  the  passions  which 
302 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

seem  to  play  in  it,  have  a  monotony,  when  once 

we  have  tried  them  ;  that  in  only  once  trying 
them,  and  viewing  them,  we  find  out  their  se 
cret,  and  that  afterwards  the  show  is  too  superfi 
cial  to  arrest  our  attention.  As  dramatists  and 
novelists  repeat  their  plots,  so  does  man's  life 
repeat  itself,  and  at  length  grows  stale.  This 
is  what,  in  my  desponding  moments,  I  have 
sometimes  suspected.  What  to  do,  if  this  be 
so?" 

"  Nay,  that  is  a  serious  consideration,"  re 
plied  Sibyl,  assuming  an  air  of  mock  alarm, 
"  if  you  really  think  we  shall  be  tired  of  life, 
whether  or  no." 

"  I  do  not  think  it,  Sibyl,"  replied  Septimius. 
"  By  much  musing  on  this  matter,  I  have  con 
vinced  myself  that  man  is  not  capable  of  de 
barring  himself  utterly  from  death,  since  it  is 
evidently  a  remedy  for  many  evils  that  nothing 
else  would  cure.  This  means  that  we  have  dis 
covered  of  removing  death  to  an  indefinite  dis 
tance  is  not  supernatural  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  —  the  very 
perfection  of  the  natural,  since  it  consists  in 
applying  the  powers  and  processes  of  Nature  to 
the  prolongation  of  the  existence  of  man,  her 
most  perfect  handiwork  ;  and  this  could  only  be 
done  by  entire  accordance  and  co-effort  with 
Nature.  Therefore  Nature  is  not  changed,  and 
death  remains  as  one  of  her  steps,  just  as  hereto- 
303 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

fore.  Therefore,  when  we  have  exhausted  the 
world,  whether  by  going  through  its  apparently 
vast  variety,  or  by  satisfying  ourselves  that  it  is 
all  a  repetition  of  one  thing,  we  will  call  death 
as  the  friend  to  introduce  us  to  something 
new." 

\He  would  write  a  poem,  or  other  great  work, 
inappreciable  at  first ^  and  live  to  see  it  famous , — 
himself  among  his  own  posterity -.] 

"  O,  insatiable  love  of  life  !  "  exclaimed  Sibyl, 
looking  at  him  with  strange  pity.  "  Canst  thou 
not  conceive  that  mortal  brain  and  heart  might 
at  length  be  content  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  Never,  Sibyl  !  "  replied  Septimius,  with 
horror.  "  My  spirit  delights  in  the  thought  of 
an  infinite  eternity.  Does  not  thine  ?  " 

"  One  little  interval  —  a  few  centuries  only 
—  of  dreamless  sleep,"  said  Sibyl  pleadingly. 
"  Cannot  you  allow  me  that  ?  " 

"  I  fear,"  said  Septimius,"  our  identity  would 
change  in  that  repose  ;  it  would  be  a  Lethe  be 
tween  the  two  parts  of  our  being,  and  with  such 
disconnection  a  continued  life  would  be  equiva 
lent  to  a  new  one,  and  therefore  valueless." 

In  such  talk,  snatching  in  the  fog  at  the  frag 
ments  of  philosophy,  they  continued  fitfully  ; 
Septimius  calming  down  his  enthusiasm  thus, 
which  otherwise  might  have  burst  forth  in  mad 
ness,  affrighting  the  quiet  little  village  with  the 
marvellous  things  about  which  they  mused. 
3°4 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Septimius  could  not  quite  satisfy  himself  whether 
Sibyl  Dacy  shared  in  his  belief  of  the  success  of 
his  experiment,  and  was  confident,  as  he  w7as, 
that  he  held  in  his  control  the  means  of  un 
limited  life  •  neither  was  he  sure  that  she  loved 
him,  —  loved  him  well  enough  to  undertake 
with  him  the  long  march  that  he  propounded 
to  her,  making  a  union  an  affair  of  so  vastly 
more  importance  than  it  is  in  the  brief  lifetime 
of  other  mortals.  But  he  determined  to  let  her 
drink  the  invaluable  draught  along  with  him, 
and  to  trust  to  the  long  future,  and  the  better 
opportunities  that  time  would  give  him,  and 
his  outliving  all  rivals,  and  the  loneliness  which 
an  undying  life  would  throw  around  her,  with 
out  him,  as  the  pledges  of  his  success. 

And  now  the  happy  day  had  come  for  the 
celebration  of  Robert  Hagburn's  marriage  with 
pretty  Rose  Garfield,  the  brave  with  the  fair  ; 
and,  as  usual,  the  ceremony  was  to  take  place  in 
the  evening,  and  at  the  house  of  the  bride  ;  and 
preparations  were  made  accordingly  :  the  wed 
ding  cake,  which  the  bride's  own  fair  hands  had 
mingled  with  her  tender  hopes,  and  seasoned  it 
with  maiden  fears,  so  that  its  composition  was 
as  much  ethereal  as  sensual ;  and  the  neighbors 
and  friends  were  invited,  and  came  with  their 
best  wishes  and  good  will.  For  Rose  shared 
not  at  all  the  distrust,  the  suspicion,  or  what- 
305 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ever  it  was,  that  had  waited  on  the  true  branch 
of  Septimius's  family,  in  one  shape  or  another, 
ever  since  the  memory  of  man  ;  and  all  —  ex 
cept,  it  might  be,  some  disappointed  damsels 
who  had  hoped  to  win  Robert  Hagburn  for 
themselves  —  rejoiced  at  the  approaching  union 
of  this  fit  couple,  and  wished  them  happiness. 

Septimius,  too,  accorded  his  gracious  consent 
to  the  union,  and  while  he  thought  within  him 
self  that  such  a  brief  union  was  not  worth  the 
trouble  and  feeling  which  his  sister  and  her  lover 
wasted  on  it,  still  he  wished  them  happiness. 
As  he  compared  their  brevity  with  his  long  du 
ration,  he  smiled  at  their  little  fancies  of  loves, 
of  which  he  seemed  to  see  the  end  ;  the  flower 
of  a  brief  summer,  blooming  beautifully  enough, 
and  shedding  its  leaves,  the  fragrance  of  which 
would  linger  a  little  while  in  his  memory,  and 
then  be  gone.  He  wondered  how  far  in  the 
coming  centuries  he  should  remember  this 
wedding  of  his  sister  Rose  ;  perhaps  he  would 
meet,  five  hundred  years  hence,  some  descendant 
of  the  marriage,  —  a  fair  girl,  bearing  the  traits 
of  his  sister's  fresh  beauty  ;  a  young  man,  re 
calling  the  strength  and  manly  comeliness  of 
Robert  Hagburn,  —  and  could  claim  acquaint 
ance  and  kindred.  He  would  be  the  guardian, 
from  generation  to  generation,  of  this  race  ;  their 
ever  reappearing  friend  at  times  of  need  ;  and 
meeting  them  from  age  to  age,  would  find  tradi- 
306 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tions  of  himself  growing  poetical  in  the  lapse  of 
time ;  so  that  he  would  smile  at  seeing  his  fea 
tures  look  so  much  more  majestic  in  their  fancies 
than  in  reality.  So  all  along  their  course,  in 
the  history  of  the  family,  he  would  trace  him 
self,  and  by  his  traditions  he  would  make  them 
acquainted  with  all  their  ancestors,  and  so  still 
be  warmed  by  kindred  blood. 

And  Robert  Hagburn,  full  of  the  life  of  the 
moment,  warm  with  generous  blood,  came  in  a 
new  uniform,  looking  fit  to  be  the  founder  of  a 
race  who  should  look  back  to  a  hero  sire.  He 
greeted  Septimius  as  a  brother.  The  minister, 
too,  came,  of  course,  and  mingled  with  the 
throng,  with  decorous  aspect,  and  greeted  Sep 
timius  with  more  formality  than  he  had  been 
wont ;  for  Septimius  had  insensibly  withdrawn 
himself  from  the  minister's  intimacy,  as  he  got 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
own  cause.  Besides,  the  minister  did  not  fail 
to  see  that  his  once  devoted  scholar  had  con 
tracted  habits  of  study  into  the  secrets  of  which 
he  himself  was  not  admitted,  and  that  he  no 
longer  alluded  to  studies  for  the  ministry ;  and 
he  was  inclined  to  suspect  that  Septimius  had 
unfortunately  allowed  infidel  ideas  to  assail, 
at  least,  if  not  to  overcome,  that  fortress  of 
firm  faith,  which  he  had  striven  to  found  and 
strengthen  in  his  mind,  —  a  misfortune  fre 
quently  befalling  speculative  and  imaginative 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  melancholic  persons,  like  Septimius,  whom 
the  Devil  is  all  the  time  planning  to  assault,  be* 
cause  he  feels  confident  of  having  a  traitor  in 
the  garrison.  The  minister  had  heard  that  this 
was  the  fashion  of  Septimius's  family,  and  that 
even  the  famous  divine,  who,  in  his  eyes,  was 
the  glory  of  it,  had  had  his  season  of  wild  in 
fidelity  in  his  youth,  before  grace  touched  him ; 
and  had  always  thereafter,  throughout  his  long 
and  pious  life,  been  subject  to  seasons  of  black 
and  sulphurous  despondency,  during  which  he 
disbelieved  the  faith  which,  at  other  times,  he 
preached  powerfully. 

"  Septimius,  my  young  friend/'  said  he, fc  are 
you  yet  ready  to  be  a  preacher  of  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  reverend  pastor,"  said  Septimius, 
smiling  at  the  thought  of  the  day  before,  that 
the  career  of  a  prophet  would  be  one  that  he 
should  some  time  assume.  "  There  will  be  time 
enough  to  preach  the  truth  when  I  better  know 
it." 

"  You  do  not  look  as  if  you  knew  it  so  well 
as  formerly,  instead  of  better,"  said  his  reverend 
friend,  looking  into  the  deep  furrows  of  his  brow, 
and  into  his  wild  and  troubled  eyes. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Septimius.  "  There  is 
time  yet." 

These  few  words  passed  amid  the  bustle  and 
murmur  of  the  evening,  while  the  guests  were 
assembling,  and  all  were  awaiting  the  marriage 
308 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

tvith  that  interest  which  the  event  continually 
brings  with  it,  common  as  it  is,  so  that  nothing 
but  death  is  commoner.  Everybody  congratu 
lated  the  modest  Rose,  who  looked  quiet  and 
happy  ;  and  so  she  stood  up  at  the  proper  time, 
and  the  minister  married  them  with  a  certain 
fervor  and  individual  application,  that  made 
them  feel  they  were  married  indeed.  Then  there 
ensued  a  salutation  of  the  bride,  the  first  to  kiss 
her  being  the  minister,  and  then  some  respect 
able  old  justices  and  farmers,  each  with  his 
friendly  smile  and  joke.  Then  went  round  the 
cake  and  wine,  and  other  good  cheer,  and  the 
hereditary  jokes  with  which  brides  used  to  be  as 
sailed  in  those  days.  I  think,  too,  there  was  a 
dance,  though  how  the  couples  in  the  reel  found 
space  to  foot  it  in  the  little  room,  I  cannot  ima 
gine  ;  at  any  rate,  there  was  a  bright  light  out 
of  the  windows,  gleaming  across  the  road,  and 
such  a  sound  of  the  babble  of  numerous  voices 
and  merriment,  that  travellers  passing  by,  on 
the  lonely  Lexington  road,  wished  they  were  of 
the  party  ;  and  one  or  two  of  them  stopped  and 
went  in,  and  saw  the  new-made  bride,  drank  to 
her  health,  and  took  a  piece  of  the  wedding  cake 
home  to  dream  upon. 

[//  is  to  be  observed  that  Rose  had  requested  of 
her  friend \  Sibyl  Dacy,  to  act  as  one  of  her  brides 
maids,  of  whom  she  had  only  the  modest  number  of 
two ;  and  the  strange  girl  declined,  saying  that 
309 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

her  intermeddling  would  bring  ill  fortune  to  the 
marriage^] 

"  Why  do  you  talk  such  nonsense,  Sibyl  ?  " 
asked  Rose.  "You  love  me,  I  am  sure,  and 
wish  me  well ;  and  your  smile,  such  as  it  is,  will 
be  the  promise  of  prosperity,  and  I  wish  for  it 
on  my  wedding  day." 

"  I  am  an  ill  fate,  a  sinister  demon,  Rose ;  a 
thing  that  has  sprung  out  of  a  grave ;  and  you 
had  better  not  entreat  me  to  twine  my  poi 
son  tendrils  round  your  destinies.  You  would 
repent  it." 

"  O,  hush,  hush  !  "  said  Rose,  putting  her 
hand  over  her  friend's  mouth.  "  Naughty  one ! 
you  can  bless  me,  if  you  will,  only  you  are  way 
ward." 

"  Bless  you,  then,  dearest  Rose,  and  all  hap 
piness  on  your  marriage  !  " 

Septimius  had  been  duly  present  at  the  mar 
riage,  and  kissed  his  sister  with  moist  eyes,  it 
is  said,  and  a  solemn  smile,  as  he  gave  her  into 
the  keeping  of  Robert  Hagburn ;  and  there 
was  something  in  the  words  he  then  used  that 
afterwards  dwelt  on  her  mind,  as  if  they  had  a 
meaning  in  them  that  asked  to  be  sought  into, 
and  needed  reply. 

"  There,  Rose,"  he  had  said,  "  I  have  made 
myself  ready  for  my  destiny.  I  have  no  ties 
any  more,  and  may  set  forth  on  my  path  with 
out  scruple." 

310 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

"Am  I  not  your  sister  still,  Septimius?" 
said  she,  shedding  a  tear  or  two. 

"  A  married  woman  is  no  sister  ;  nothing 
but  a  married  woman  till  she  becomes  a  mo 
ther  ;  and  then  what  shall  I  have  to  do  with 
you  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  eagerness  to  prove 
his  case,  which  Rose  could  not  understand,  but 
which  w7as  probably  to  justify  himself  in  sever 
ing,  as  he  was  about  to  do,  the  link  that  con 
nected  him  with  his  race,  and  making  for  him 
self  an  exceptional  destiny,  which,  if  it  did  not 
entirely  insulate  him,  would  at  least  create  new 
relations  with  all.  There  he  stood,  poor  fel 
low,  looking  on  the  mirthful  throng,  not  in  exul 
tation,  as  might  have  been  supposed,  but  with  a 
strange  sadness  upon  him.  It  seemed  to  him, 
at  that  final  moment,  as  if  it  were  Death 
that  linked  together  all  ;  yes,  and  so  gave  the 
warmth  to  all.  Wedlock  itself  seemed  a  bro 
ther  of  Death  ;  wedlock,  and  its  sweetest  hopes, 
its  holy  companionship,  its  mysteries,  and  all 
that  warm  mysterious  brotherhood  that  is 
between  men  ;  passing  as  they  do  from  mys 
tery  to  mystery  in  a  little  gleam  of  light ;  that 
wild,  sweet  charm  of  uncertainty  and  tempora- 
riness,  —  how  lovely  it  made  them  all,  how  in 
nocent,  even  the  worst  of  them  ;  how  hard  and 
prosaic  was  his  own  situation  in  comparison  to 
theirs.  He  felt  a  gushing  tenderness  for  them, 
311 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

as  if  he  would  have  flung  aside  his  endless  life, 
and  rushed  among  them,  saying,  — 

"  Embrace  me  !  I  am  still  one  of  you,  and 
will  not  leave  you  !  Hold  me  fast  !  " 

After  this  it  was  not  particularly  observed 
that  both  Septimius  and  Sibyl  Dacy  had  disap 
peared  from  the  party,  which,  however,  went 
on  no  less  merrily  without  them.  In  truth, 
the  habits  of  Sibyl  Dacy  were  so  wayward,  and 
little  squared  by  general  rules,  that  nobody 
wondered  or  tried  to  account  for  them  ;  and  as 
for  Septimius,  he  was  such  a  studious  man,  so 
little  accustomed  to  mingle  with  his  fellow 
citizens  on  any  occasion,  that  it  was  rather 
wondered  at  that  he  should  have  spent  so  large 
a  part  of  a  sociable  evening  with  them,  than 
that  he  should  now  retire. 

After  they  were  gone  the  party  received  an 
unexpected  addition,  being  no  other  than  the 
excellent  Doctor  Portsoaken,  who  came  to  the 
door,  announcing  that  he  had  just  arrived  on 
horseback  from  Boston,  and  that,  his  object 
being  to  have  an  interview  with  Sibyl  Dacy, 
he  had  been  to  Robert  Hagburn's  house  in 
quest  of  her;  but,  learning  from  the  old  grand 
mother  that  she  was  here,  he  had  followed. 

Not  finding  her,  he  evinced  no  alarm,  but 

was    easily   induced    to    sit   down    among    the 

merry  company,  and  partake  of  some  brandy, 

which,   with  other    liquors,    Robert    had    pro- 

312 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

vided  in  sufficient  abundance ;  and  that  being 
a  day  when  man  had  not  learned  to  fear  the 
glass,  the  doctor  found  them  all  in  a  state  of 
hilarious  chat.  Taking  out  his  German  pipe> 
he  joined  the  group  of  smokers  in  the  great 
chimney  corner,  and  entered  into  conversation 
with  them,  laughing  and  joking,  and  mixing  up 
his  jests  with  that  mysterious  suspicion  which 
gave  so  strange  a  character  to  his  intercourse. 

"  It  is  good  fortune,  Mr.  Hagburn,"  quoth 
he,  "that  brings  me  here  on  this  auspicious 
day.  And  how  has  been  my  learned  young 
friend  Doctor  Septimius,  —  for  so  he  should  be 
called,  —  and  how  have  flourished  his  studies 
of  late  ?  The  scientific  world  may  look  for  great 
fruits  from  that  decoction  of  his." 

"He'll  never  equal  Aunt  Keziah  for  herb 
drinks,"  said  an  old  woman,  smoking  her  pipe 
in  the  corner,  "  though  I  think  likely  he  '11 
make  a  good  doctor  enough  by  and  by.  Poor 
Kezzy,  she  took  a  drop  too  much  of  her  mix 
ture,  after  all.  I  used  to  tell  her  how  it  would 
be  ;  for  Kezzy  and  I  were  pretty  good  friends 
once,  before  the  Indian  in  her  came  out  so 
strongly,  —  the  squaw  and  the  witch,  for  she 
had  them  both  in  her  blood,  poor  yellow 
Kezzy !  " 

"Yes!  had  she  indeed?"  quoth  the  doctor; 
"  and  I  have  heard  an  odd  story,  that  if  the 
Feltons  chose  to  go  back  to  the  old  country, 
3*3 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

they  'd  find  a  home  and  an  estate  there  ready 
for  them." 

The  old  woman  mused,  and  puffed  at  her 
pipe.  "  Ah,  yes,"  muttered  she,  at  length,  "  I 
remember  to  have  heard  something  about  that ; 
and  how,  if  Felton  chose  to  strike  into  the 
woods,  he'd  find  a  tribe  of  wild  Indians  there 
ready  to  take  him  for  their  sagamore,  and  con 
quer  the  whites ;  and  how,  if  he  chose  to  go  to 
England,  there  was  a  great  old  house  all  ready 
for  him,  and  a  fire  burning  in  the  hall,  and 
a  dinner  table  spread,  and  the  tall-posted  bed 
ready,  with  clean  sheets,  in  the  best  chamber, 
and  a  man  waiting  at  the  gate  to  show  him  in. 
Only  there  was  a  spell  of  a  bloody  footstep  left 
on  the  threshold  by  the  last  that  came  out,  so 
that  none  of  his  posterity  could  ever  cross  it 
again.  But  that  was  all  nonsense  !  " 

"  Strange  old  things  one  dreams  in  a  chim 
ney  corner,"  quoth  the  doctor.  "  Do  you  re 
member  any  more  of  this  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  I  *m  so  forgetful  nowadays,"  said 
old  Mrs.  Hagburn ;  "only  it  seems  as  if  I  had 
my  memories  in  my  pipe,  and  they  curl  up  in 
smoke.  I  Ve  known  these  Feltons  all  along, 
or  it  seems  as  if  I  had ;  for  I  'm  nigh  ninety 
years  old  now,  and  I  was  two  year  old  in  the 
witch's  time,  and  I  have  seen  a  piece  of  the 
halter  that  old  Felton  was  hung  with." 
3H 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

Some  of  the  company  laughed. 

"That  must  have  been  a  curious  sight," 
quoth  the  doctor. 

"  It  is  not  well,"  said  the  minister  seriously 
to  the  doctor,  "  to  stir  up  these  old  remem 
brances,  making  the  poor  old  lady  appear  ab 
surd.  I  know  not  that  she  need  to  be  ashamed 
of  showing  the  weaknesses  of  the  generation  to 
which  she  belonged ;  but  I  do  not  like  to  see 
old  age  put  at  this  disadvantage  among  the 
young." 

"  Nay,  my  good  and  reverend  sir,"  returned 
the  doctor,  "  I  mean  no  such  disrespect  as  you 
seem  to  think.  Forbid  it,  ye  upper  powers, 
that  I  should  cast  any  ridicule  on  beliefs,  — 
superstitions,  do  you  call  them  r  —  that  are  as 
worthy  of  faith,  for  aught  I  know,  as  any  that 
are  preached  in  the  pulpit.  If  the  old  lady 
would  tell  me  any  secret  of  the  old  Felton's 
science,  I  shall  treasure  it  sacredly  ;  for  I  in 
terpret  these  stories  about  his  miraculous  gifts 
as  meaning  that  he  had  a  great  command  over 
natural  science,  the  virtues  of  plants,  the  capa 
cities  of  the  human  body." 

While  these  things  were  passing,  or  before 
they  passed,  or  some  time  in  that  eventful  night, 
Septimius  had  withdrawn  to  his  study,  when 
there  was  a  low  tap  at  the  door,  and,  opening 
it,  Sibyl  Dacy  stood  before  him.  It  seemed  as 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

if  there  had  been  a  previous  arrangement  be 
tween  them  ;  for  Septimius  evinced  no  surprise, 
only  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  in. 

"  How  cold  your  hand  is  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Nothing  is  so  cold,  except  it  be  the  potent 
medicine.  It  makes  me  shiver." 

"  Never  mind  that,"  said  Sibyl.  "  You  look 
frightened  at  me." 

"  Do  I  ?  "  said  Septimius.  "  No,  not  that ; 
but  this  is  such  a  crisis ;  and  methinks  it  is  not 
yourself.  Your  eyes  glare  on  me  strangely." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  and  you  are  not  frightened  at  me  ? 
Well,  I  will  try  not  to  be  frightened  at  myself. 
Time  was,  however,  when  I  should  have  been." 

She  looked  round  at  Septimius's  study,  with 
its  few  old  books,  its  implements  of  science, 
crucibles,  retorts,  and  electrical  machines ;  all 
these  she  noticed  little  ;  but  on  the  table  drawn 
before  the  fire,  there  was  something  that  at 
tracted  her  attention  ;  it  was  a  vase  that  seemed 
of  crystal,  made  in  that  old  fashion  in  which  the 
Venetians  made  their  glasses,  —  a  most  pure 
kind  of  glass,  with  a  long  stalk,  within  which 
was  a  curved  elaboration  of  fancy  work,  wreathed 
and  twisted.  This  old  glass  was  an  heirloom 
of  the  Feltons,  a  relic  that  had  come  down  with 
many  traditions,  bringing  its  frail  fabric  safely 
through  all  the  perils  of  time,  that  had  shat 
tered  empires;  and,  if  space  sufficed,  I  could 
tell  many  stories  of  this  curious  vase,  which  was 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

said,  in  its  time,  to  have  been  the  instrument 
both  of  the  Devil's  sacrament  in  the  forest,  and 
of  the  Christian  in  the  village  meeting-house. 
But,  at  any  rate,  it  had  been  a  part  of  the  choice 
household  gear  of  one  of  Septimius's  ancestors, 
and  was  engraved  with  his  arms,  artistically  done. 

"Is  that  the  drink  of  immortality?"  said 
Sibyl. 

"  Yes,  Sibyl,"  said  Septimius.  "  Do  but 
touch  the  goblet ;  see  how  cold  it  is." 

She  put  her  slender,  pallid  fingers  on  the 
side  of  the  goblet,  and  shuddered,  just  as  Sep 
timius  did  when  he  touched  her  hand. 

"  Why  should  it  be  so  cold  P  "  said  she,  look 
ing  at  Septimius. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not,  unless  because  endless 
life  goes  round  the  circle  and  meets  death,  and 
is  just  the  same  with  it.  O  Sibyl,  it  is  a  fearful 
thing  that  I  have  accomplished  !  Do  you  not 
feel  it  so  ?  What  if  this  shiver  should  last  us 
through  eternity  ?  " 

"  Have  you  pursued  this  object  so  long," 
said  Sibyl,  "  to  have  these  fears  respecting  it 
now  ?  In  that  case,  methinks  I  could  be  bold 
enough  to  drink  it  alone,  and  look  down  upon 
you,  as  I  did  so,  smiling  at  your  fear  to  take 
the  life  offered  you." 

"  I  do  not  fear,"  said  Septimius  ;  "  but  yet  I 
acknowledge  there  is  a  strange,  powerful  abhor 
rence  in  me  towards  this  draught,  which  I  know 
31? 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

not  how  to  account  for,  except  as  the  reaction, 
the  revulsion  of  feeling,  consequent  upon  its 
being  too  long  overstrained  in  one  direction. 
I  cannot  help  it.  The  meannesses,  the  little 
nesses,  the  perplexities,  the  general  irksomeness 
of  life,  weigh  upon  me  strangely.  Thou  didst 
refuse  to  drink  with  me.  That  being  the  case, 
methinks  I  could  break  the  jewelled  goblet  now, 
untasted,  and  choose  the  grave  as  the  wiser 
part." 

"  The  beautiful  goblet!  What  a  pity  to  break 
it !  "  said  Sibyl,  with  her  characteristic  malign 
and  mysterious  smile.  "  You  cannot  find  it  in 
your  heart  to  do  it." 

"  I  could,  —  I  can.  So  thou  wilt  not  drink 
with  me  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  ask  ?  "  said  Sibyl. 
"  I  am  a  being  that  sprung  up,  like  this  flower, 
out  of  a  grave ;  or,  at  least,  I  took  root  in  a 
grave,  and,  growing  there,  have  twined  about 
your  life,  until  you  cannot  possibly  escape  from 
me.  Ah,  Septimius !  you  know  me  not.  You 
know  not  what  is  in  my  heart  towards  you.  Do 
you  remember  this  broken  miniature  ?  would 
you  wish  to  see  the  features  that  were  destroyed 
when  that  bullet  passed  ?  Then  look  at  mine  !  " 

"  Sibyl  !  what  do  you  tell  me  ?  Was  it  you 
—  were  they  your  features  —  which  that  young 
soldier  kissed  as  he  lay  dying  ?  " 

"  They  were,"  said  Sibyl.  "  I  loved  him, 

' 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

and  gave  him  that  miniature,  and  the  face  they 
represented.  I  had  given  him  all,  and  you 
slew  him." 

"  Then  you  hate  me,"  whispered  Septimius. 

"  Do  you  call  it  hatred  ?  "  asked  Sibyl,  smil 
ing.  "  Have  I  not  aided  you,  thought  with 
you,  encouraged  you,  heard  all  your  wild  rav 
ings  when  you  dared  to  tell  no  one  else  ?  kept 
up  your  hopes  ;  suggested  ;  helped  you  with 
my  legendary  lore  to  useful  hints  ;  helped  you, 
also,  in  other  ways,  which  you  do  not  suspect  ? 
And  now  you  ask  me  if  I  hate  you.  Does 
this  look  like  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Septimius.  "  And  yet,  since 
first  I  knew  you,  there  has  been  something 
whispering  me  of  harm,  as  if  I  sat  near  some 
mischief.  There  is  in  me  the  wild,  natural 
blood  of  the  Indian,  the  instinctive,  the  animal 
nature,  which  has  ways  of  warning  that  civilized 
life  polishes  away  and  cuts  out ;  and  so,  Sibyl, 
never  did  I  approach  you,  but  there  were  re 
luctances,  drawings  back,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
a  strong  impulse  to  come  closest  to  you  ;  and 
to  that  I  yielded.  But  why,  then,  knowing 
that  in  this  grave  lay  the  man  you  loved,  laid 
there  by  my  hand,  —  why  did  you  aid  me  in  an 
object  which  you  must  have  seen  was  the  breath 
of  my  life  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  friend,  —  my  enemy,  if  you  will 
have  it  so,  —  are  you  yet  to  learn  that  the  wish 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

of  a  man's  inmost  heart  is  oftenest  that  by  which 
he  is  mined  and  made  miserable  ?  But  listen 
to  me,  Septimius.  No  matter  for  my  earlier 
life ;  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  tell  you 
the  story,  and  confess  to  you  its  weakness,  its 
shame.  It  may  be,  I  had  more  cause  to  hate 
the  tenant  of  that  grave,  than  to  hate  you  who 
unconsciously  avenged  my  cause ;  nevertheless, 
I  came  here  in  hatred,  and  desire'  of  revenge, 
meaning  to  lie  in  wait,  and  turn  your  dearest  de 
sire  against  you,  to  eat  into  your  life,  and  distil 
poison  into  it,  I  sitting  on  this  grave,  and  draw 
ing  fresh  hatred  from  it;  and  at  last,  in  the 
hour  of  your  triumph,  I  meant  to  make  the 
triumph  mine/' 

"  Is  this  still  so  ?  "  asked  Septimius,  with  pale 
lips  ;  "  or  did  your  fell  purpose  change  ?  " 

"  Septimius,  I  am  weak,  —  a  weak,  weak  girl, 
—  only  a  girl,  Septimius  ;  only  eighteen  yet!  " 
exclaimed  Sibyl.  "It  is  young,  is  it  not  ?  I 
might  be  forgiven  much.  You  know  not  how 
bitter  my  purpose  was  to  you.  But  look,  Septi 
mius,  —  could  it  be  worse  than  this  ?  Hush, 
be  still  !  Do  not  stir  !  " 

She  lifted  the  beautiful  goblet  from  the  table, 
put  it  to  her  lips,  and  drank  a  deep  draught  from 
it ;  then,  smiling  mockingly,  she  held  it  towards 
him. 

"  See ;   I  have  made  myself  immortal  before 
you.     Will  you  drink  ?  " 
320 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

He  eagerly  held  out  his  hand  to  receive  the 
goblet,  but  Sibyl,  holding  it  beyond  his  reach  a 
moment,  deliberately  let  it  fall  upon  the  hearth, 
where  it  shivered  into  fragments,  and  the  bright, 
cold  water  of  immortality  was  all  spilt,  shedding 
its  strange  fragrance  around. 

"  Sibyl,  what  have  you  done  ?  "  cried  Septi- 
mius,  in  rage  and  horror. 

"  Be  quiet !  See  what  sort  of  immortality  I 
win  by  it,  —  then,  if  you  like,  distil  your  drink 
of  eternity  again,  and  quaff  it." 

"  It  is  too  late,  Sibyl  ;  it  was  a  happiness  that 
may  never  come  again  in  a  lifetime.  I  shall 
perish  as  a  dog  does.  It  is  too  late  !  " 

"  Septimius,"  said  Sibyl,  who  looked  strangely 
beautiful,  as  if  the  drink,  giving  her  immortal 
life,  had  likewise  the  potency  to  give  immortal 
beauty  answering  to  it,  "  listen  to  me.  You  have 
not  learned  all  the  secrets  that  lay  in  those  old 
legends,  about  which  we  have  talked  so  much. 
There  were  two  recipes,  discovered  or  learned 
by  the  art  of  the  studious  old  Caspar  Felton. 
One  was  said  to  be  that  secret  of  immortal  life 
which  so  many  old  sages  sought  for,  and  which 
some  were  said  to  have  found  ;  though,  if  that 
were  the  case,  it  is  strange  some  of  them  have 
not  lived  till  our  day.  Its  essence  lay  in  a  cer 
tain  rare  flower,  which,  mingled  properly  with 
other  ingredients  of  great  potency  in  themselves, 
though  still  lacking  the  crowning  virtue  till  the 
321 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

flower  was  supplied,  produced  the  drink  of  im 
mortality." 

"  Yes,  and  I  had  the  flower,  which  I  found 
in  a  grave,"  said  Septimius,  "  and  distilled  the 
drink  which  you  have  spilt." 

"  You  had  a  flower,  or  what  you  called  a 
flower,"  said  the  girl.  "  But,  Septimius,  there 
was  yet  another  drink,  in  which  the  same  potent 
ingredients  were  used  ;  all  but  the  last.  In  this, 
instead  of  the  beautiful  flower,  was  mingled  the 
semblance  of  a  flower,  but  really  a  baneful  growth 
out  of  a  grave.  This  I  sowed  there,  and  it  con 
verted  the  drink  into  a  poison,  famous  in  old  sci 
ence,  —  a  poison  which  the  Borgias  used,  and 
Mary  de  Medicis,  —  and  which  has  brought  to 
death  many  a  famous  person,  when  it  was  desir 
able  to  his  enemies.  This  is  the  drink  I  helped 
you  to  distil.  It  brings  on  death  with  pleasant 
and  delightful  thrills  of  the  nerves.  O  Septi 
mius,  Septimius,  it  is  worth  while  to  die,  to  be 
so  blest,  so  exhilarated  as  I  am  now." 

"  Good  God,  Sibyl,  is  this  possible  ? " 

"  Even  so,  Septimius.  I  was  helped  by  that 
old  physician,  Doctor  Portsoaken,  who,  with 
some  private  purpose  of  his  own,  taught  me  what 
to  do ;  for  he  was  skilled  in  all  the  mysteries  of 
those  old  physicians,  and  knew  that  their  poisons 
at  least  were  efficacious,  whatever  their  drinks 
of  immortality  might  be.  But  the  end  has  not 
turned  out  as  I  meant.  A  girl's  fancy  is  so  shift- 
322 


What  have  you  done 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

ing,  Septimius.  I  thought  I  loved  that  youth 
in  the  grave  yonder  ;  but  it  was  you  I  loved,  — 
and  I  am  dying.  Forgive  me  for  my  evil  pur 
poses,  for  I  am  dying." 

"  Why  hast  thou  spilt  the  drink  ?  "  said  Sep 
timius,  bending  his  dark  brows  upon  her,  and 
frowning  over  her.  "  We  might  have  died  to 
gether." 

"  No,  live,  Septimius,"  said  the  girl,  whose 
face  appeared  to  grow  bright  and  joyous,  as  if 
the  drink  of  death  exhilarated  her  like  an  intoxi 
cating  fluid.  "  I  would  not  let  you  have  it,  not 
one  drop.  But  to  think,"  and  here  she  laughed, 
"  what  a  penance,  —  what  months  of  wearisome 
labor  thou  hast  had,  —  and  what  thoughts,  what 
dreams,  and  how  I  laughed  in  my  sleeve  at  them 
all  the  time  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Then  thou  didst 
plan  out  future  ages,  and  talk  poetry  and  prose 
to  me.  Did  I  not  take  it  very  demurely,  and 
answer  thee  in  the  same  style  ?  and  so  thou  didst 
love  me,  and  kindly  didst  wish  to  take  me  with 
thee  in  thy  immortality.  O  Septimius,  I  should 
have  liked  it  well !  Yes,  latterly,  only,  I  knew 
how  the  case  stood.  O,  how  I  surrounded 
thee  with  dreams,  and  instead  of  giving  thee  im 
mortal  life,  so  kneaded  up  the  little  life  allotted 
thee  with  dreams  and  vaporing  stuff,  that  thou 
didst  not  really  live  even  that.  Ah,  it  was  a 
pleasant  pastime,  and  pleasant  is  now  the  end  of 
it.  Kiss  me,  thou  poor  Septimius,  one  kiss  !  " 
323 


SEPT1MIUS  FELTON 

[She  gives  the  ridiculous  aspect  to  his  scheme, 
in  an  airy  way.~\ 

But  as  Septimius,  who  seemed  stunned,  in 
stinctively  bent  forward  to  obey  her,  she  drew 
back.  "  No,  there  shall  be  no  kiss  !  There 
may  a  little  poison  linger  on  my  lips.  Farewell ! 
Dost  thou  mean  still  to  seek  for  thy  liquor  of 
immortality  ?  —  ah,  ah !  It  was  a  good  jest.  We 
will  laugh  at  it  when  we  meet  in  the  other 
world." 

And  here  poor  Sibyl  Dacy's  laugh  grew 
fainter,  and  dying  away,  she  seemed  to  die  with 
it ;  for  there  she  was,  with  that  mirthful,  half- 
malign  expression  still  on  her  face,  but  motion 
less  ;  so  that  however  long  Septimius's  life  was 
likely  to  be,  whether  a  few  years  or  many  cen 
turies,  he  would  still  have  her  image  in  his  mem 
ory  so.  And  here  she  lay  among  his  broken 
hopes,  now  shattered  as  completely  as  the  gob 
let  which  held  his  draught,  and  as  incapable  of 
being  formed  again. 

The  next  day,  as  Septimius  did  not  appear, 
there  was  research  for  him  on  the  part  of  Doc 
tor  Portsoaken.  His  room  was  found  empty, 
the  bed  untouched.  Then  they  sought  him  on 
his  favorite  hilltop  ;  but  neither  was  he  found 
there,  although  something  was  found  that  added 
to  the  wonder  and  alarm  of  his  disappearance. 
It  was  the  cold  form  of  Sibyl  Dacy,  which  was 
324 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

extended  on  the  hillock  so  often  mentioned, 
with  her  arms  thrown  over  it ;  but,  looking  in 
the  dead  face,  the  beholders  were  astonished  to 
see  a  certain  malign  and  mirthful  expression,  as 
if  some  airy  part  had  been  played  out,  —  some 
surprise,  some  practical  joke  of  a  peculiarly  airy 
kind  had  burst  with  fairy  shoots  of  fire  among 
the  company. 

"  Ah,  she  is  dead  !  Poor  Sibyl  Dacy  !  "  ex 
claimed  Doctor  Portsoaken.  "  Her  scheme, 
then,  has  turned  out  amiss." 

This  exclamation  seemed  to  imply  some 
knowledge  of  the  mystery ;  and  it  so  impressed 
the  auditors,  among  whom  was  Robert  Hag- 
burn,  that  they  thought  it  not  inexpedient  to 
have  an  investigation ;  so  the  learned  doctor 
was  not  uncivilly  taken  into  custody  and  exam 
ined.  Several  interesting  particulars,  some  of 
which  throw  a  certain  degree  of  light  on  our 
narrative,  were  discovered.  For  instance,  that 
Sibyl  Dacy,  who  was  a  niece  of  the  doctor,  had 
been  beguiled  from  her  home  and  led  over  the 
sea  by  Cyril  Norton,  and  that  the  doctor,  ar 
riving  in  Boston  with  another  regiment,  had 
found  her  there,  after  her  lover's  death.  Here 
there  was  some  discrepancy  or  darkness  in  the 
doctor's  narrative.  He  appeared  to  have  con 
sented  to,  or  instigate^  (for  it  was  not  quite  evi 
dent  how  far  his  concurrence  had  gone),  this 
poor  girl's  scheme  of  going  and  brooding  over 
325 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

her  lover's  grave,  and  living  in  close  contiguity 
with  the  man  who  had  slain  him.  The  doctor 
had  not  much  to  say  for  himself  on  this  point ; 
but  there  was  found  reason  to  believe  that  he 
was  acting  in  the  interest  of  some  English  claim 
ant  of  a  great  estate  that  was  left  without  an 
apparent  heir  by  the  death  of  Cyril  Norton, 
and  there  was  even  a  suspicion  that  he,  with  his 
fantastic  science  and  antiquated  empiricism,  had 
been  at  the  bottom  of  the  scheme  of  poisoning, 
which  was  so  strangely  intertwined  with  Septi- 
mius's  notion,  in  which  he  went  so  nearly  crazed, 
of  a  drink  of  immortality.  It  was  observable, 
however,  that  the  doctor  —  such  a  humbug  in 
scientific  matters,  that  he  had  perhaps  bewil 
dered  himself — seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  faith 
in  the  efficacy  of  the  recipe  which  had  so 
strangely  come  to  light,  provided  the  true  flower 
could  be  discovered ;  but  that  flower,  accord 
ing  to  Doctor  Portsoaken,  had  not  been  seen 
on  earth  for  many  centuries,  and  was  banished 
probably  forever.  The  flower,  or  fungus,  which 
Septimius  had  mistaken  for  it,  was  a  sort  of 
earthly  or  devilish  counterpart  of  it,  and  was 
greatly  in  request  among  the  old  poisoners  for 
its  admirable  uses  in  their  art.  In  fine,  no  tan 
gible  evidence  being  found  against  the  worthy 
doctor,  he  was  permitted  to  depart,  and  disap 
peared  from  the  neighborhood,  to  the  scandal 
of  many  people,  unhanged  ;  leaving  behind  him 

326 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

few  available  effects  beyond  the  web  and  empty 
skin  of  an  enormous  spider. 

As  to  Septimius,  he  returned  no  more  to  his 
cottage  by  the  wayside,  and  none  undertook  to 
tell  what  had  become  of  him  ;  crushed  and  an 
nihilated,  as  it  were,  by  the  failure  of  his  mag 
nificent  and  most  absurd  dreams.  Rumors  there 
have  been,  however,  at  various  times,  that  there 
had  appeared  an  American  claimant,  who  had 
made  out  his  right  to  the  great  estate  of  Smith- 
ell's  Hall,  and  had  dwelt  there,  and  left  poster 
ity,  and  that  in  the  subsequent  generation  an 
ancient  baronial  title  had  been  revived  in  favor 
of  the  son  and  heir  of  the  American.  Whether 
this  was  our  Septimius,  I  cannot  tell  ;  but  I 
should  be  rather  sorry  to  believe  that  after  such 
splendid  schemes  as  he  had  entertained,  he 
should  have  been  content  to  settle  down  into 
the  fat  substance  and  reality  of  English  life,  and 
die  in  his  due  time,  and  be  buried  like  any  other 
man. 

A  few  years  ago,  while  in  England,  I  visited 
Smithell's  Hall,  and  was  entertained  there,  not 
knowing  at  the  time  that  I  could  claim  its  owner 
as  my  countryman  by  descent ;  though,  as  I  now 
remember,  I  was  struck  by  the  thin,  sallow, 
American  cast  of  his  face,  and  the  lithe  slender- 
ness  of  his  figure,  and  seem  now  (but  this  may 
be  my  fancy)  to  recollect  a  certain  Indian  glitter 
of  the  eye  and  cast  of  feature. 
327 


SEPTIMIUS  FELTON 

As  for  the  Bloody  Footstep,  I  saw  it  with 
my  own  eyes,  and  will  venture  to  suggest  that  it 
was  a  mere  natural  reddish  stain  in  the  stone, 
converted  by  superstition  into  a  Bloody  Foot 
step. 

328 


APPENDIX 

THE   ANCESTRAL    FOOTSTEP 

OUTLINES  OF  AN  ENGLISH  ROMANCE 

I 

ARIL  i,  1858,  Thursday.  —  He  had  now  been 
travelling  long  in  those  rich  portions  of  Eng 
land  where  he  would  most  have  wished  to  find 
the  object  of  his  pursuit ;  and  many  had  been  the  scenes 
which  he  would  willingly  have  identified  with  that 
mentioned  in  the  ancient,  time-yellowed  record  which 
he  bore  about  with  him.  It  is  to  be  observed  that, 
undertaken  at  first  half  as  the  amusement,  the  unreal 
object,  of  a  grown  man's  playday,  it  had  become  more 
and  more  real  to  him  with  every  step  of  the  way  that 
he  followed  it  up ;  along  those  green  English  lanes  it 
seemed  as  if  everything  would  bring  him  close  to  the 
mansion  that  he  sought  ;  every  morning  he  went  on 
with  renewed  hopes,  nor  did  the  evening,  though  it 
brought  with  it  no  success,  bring  with  it  the  gloom  and 
heaviness  of  a  real  disappointment.  In  all  his  life, 
including  its  earliest  and  happiest  days,  he  had  never 
known  such  a  spring  and  zest  as  now  filled  his  veins, 
and  gave  lightsomeness  to  his  limbs ;  this  spirit  gave 
to  the  beautiful  country  which  he  trod  a  still  richer 
329 


APPENDIX 

beauty  than  it  had  ever  borne,  and  he  sought  his  ancient 
home  as  if  he  had  found  his  way  into  Paradise  and  were 
there  endeavoring  to  trace  out  the  sight  [site]  of  Eve's 
bridal  bower,  the  birthplace  of  the  human  race  and  its 
glorious  possibilities  of  happiness  and  high  performance. 
In  these  sweet  and  delightful  moods  of  mind,  vary 
ing  from  one  dream  to  another,  he  loved  indeed  the 
solitude  of  his  way  ;  but  likewise  he  loved  the  facility 
which  his  pursuit  afforded  him,  of  coming  in  contact 
with  many  varieties  of  men,  and  he  took  advantage 
of  this  facility  to  an  extent  which  it  was  not  usually 
his  impulse  to  do.  But  now  he  came  forth  from  all 
reserves,  and  offered  himself  to  whomever  the  chances 
of  the  way  offered  to  him,  with  a  ready  sensibility  that 
made  its  way  through  every  barrier  that  even  English 
exclusiveness,  in  whatever  rank  of  life,  could  set  up. 
The  plastic  character  of  Middleton  was  perhaps  a  va 
riety  of  American  nature  only  presenting  itself  under 
an  individual  form  ;  he  could  throw  off  the  man  of  our 
day,  and  put  on  a  ruder  nature,  but  then  it  was  with 
a  certain  fineness,  that  made  this  only  [a]  distinction 
between  it  and  the  central  truth.  He  found  less  va 
riety  of  form  in  the  English  character  than  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  see  at  home ;  but  perhaps  this  was  in 
consequence  of  the  external  nature  of  his  acquaintance 
with  it;  for  the  view  of  one  well  accustomed  to  a  peo 
ple,  and  of  a  stranger  to  them,  differs  in  this  —  that  the 
latter  sees  the  homogeneity,  the  one  universal  charac 
ter,  the  groundwork  of  the  whole,  while  the  former 
sees  a  thousand  little  differences,  which  distinguish  the 
individual  men  apart,  to  such  a  degree  that  they  seem 
hardly  to  have  any  resemblance  among  themselves. 

33° 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

But  just  at  the  period  of  his  journey  when  we  take 
him  up,  Middleton  had  been  for  two  or  three  days  the 
companion  of  an  old  man  who  interested  him  more 
than  most  of  his  wayside  companions  ;  the  more  espe 
cially  as  he  seemed  to  be  wandering  without  an  object, 
or  with  such  a  dreamy  object  as  that  which  led  Mid- 
dleton's  own  steps  onward.  He  was  a  plain  old  man 
enough,  but  with  a  pale,  strong-featured  face  and 
white  hair,  a  certain  picturesqueness  and  venerableness, 
which  Middleton  fancied  might  have  befitted  a  richer 
garb  than  he  now  wore.  In  much  of  their  conversa 
tion,  too,  he  was  sensible  that,  though  the  stranger  be 
trayed  no  acquaintance  with  literature,  nor  seemed  to 
have  conversed  with  cultivated  minds,  yet  the  results 
of  such  acquaintance  and  converse  were  here.  Mid 
dleton  was  inclined  to  think  him,  however,  an  old 
man,  one  of  those  itinerants,  such  as  Wordsworth  re 
presented  in  the  Excursion,  who  smooth  themselves 
by  the  attrition  of  the  world  and  gain  a  knowledge 
equivalent  to  or  better  than  that  of  books  from  the 
actual  intellect  of  man  awake  and  active  around  them. 

Often,  during  the  short  period  since  their  compan 
ionship  originated,  Middleton  had  felt  impelled  to  dis 
close  to  the  old  man  the  object  of  his  journey,  and 
the  wild  tale  by  which,  after  two  hundred  years,  he 
had  been  blown  as  it  were  across  the  ocean,  and  drawn 
onward  to  commence  this  search.  The  old  man's  or 
dinary  conversation  was  of  a  nature  to  draw  forth  such 
a  confidence  as  this  ;  frequently  turning  on  the  tradi 
tions  of  the  wayside ;  the  reminiscences  that  lingered 
on  the  battlefields  of  the  Roses,  or  of  the  Parliament, 
like  flowers  nurtured  by  the  blood  of  the  slain,  and  pro- 

33* 


APPENDIX 

longing  their  race  through  the  centuries  for  the  way 
farer  to  pluck  them  ;  or  the  family  histories  of  the  cas 
tles,  manor  houses,  and  seats  which,  of  various  epochs, 
had  their  park  gates  along  the  roadside  and  would  be 
seen  with  dark  gray  towers  or  ancient  gables,  or  more 
modern  forms  of  architecture,  rising  up  among  clouds 
of  ancient  oaks.  Middleton  watched  earnestly  to  see 
if,  in  any  of  these  tales,  there  were  circumstances  re 
sembling  those  striking  and  singular  ones  which  he 
had  borne  so  long  in  his  memory,  and  on  which  he 
was  now  acting  in  so  strange  a  manner;  but  [though] 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  variety  of  incident  in  them, 
there  never  was  any  combination  of  incidents  having 
the  peculiarity  of  this. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he  to  the  old  man,  "  the  settlers 
in  my  country  may  have  carried  away  with  them  tra 
ditions  long  since  forgotten  in  this  country,  but  which 
might  have  an  interest  and  connection,  and  might  even 
piece  out  the  broken  relics  of  family  history,  which 
have  remained  perhaps  a  mystery  for  hundreds  of  years. 
I  can  conceive,  even,  that  this  might  be  of  impor 
tance  in  settling  the  heirships  of  estates  ;  but  which 
now,  only  the  two  insulated  parts  of  the  story  being 
known,  remain  a  riddle,  although  the  solution  of  it  is 
actually  in  the  world,  if  only  these  two  parts  could  be 
united  across  the  sea,  like  the  wires  of  an  electric  tele- 
graph." 

"  It  is  an  impressive  idea,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Do 
you  know  any  such  tradition  as  you  have  hinted  at  ?  " 

April  TJth.  —  Middleton  could  not  but  wonder  at 
the  singular  chance  that  had  established  him  in  such 
a  place,  and  in  such  society,  so  strangely  adapted 
332 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

to  the  purposes  with  which  he  had  been  wandering 
through  England.  He  had  come  hither,  hoping  as  it 
were  to  find  the  past  still  alive  and  in  action  ;  and 
here  it  was  so  in  this  one  only  spot,  and  these  few 
persons  into  the  midst  of  whom  he  had  suddenly  been 
cast.  With  these  reflections  he  looked  forth  from  his 
window  into  the  old-fashioned  garden,  and  at  the  stone 
sundial,  which  had  numbered  all  the  hours — all  the 
daylight  and  serene  ones,  at  least  —  since  his  myste 
rious  ancestor  left  the  country.  And  [is]  this,  then, 
he  thought  to  himself,  the  establishment  of  which  some 
rumor  had  been  preserved  ?  Was  it  here  that  the  se 
cret  had  its  hiding  place  in  the  old  coffer,  in  the  cup 
board,  in  the  secret  chamber,  or  whatever  was  indi 
cated  by  the  apparently  idle  words  of  the  document 
which  he  had  preserved?  He  still  smiled  at  the  idea, 
but  it  was  with  a  pleasant,  mysterious  sense  that  his 
life  had  at  last  got  out  of  the  dusty  real,  and  that  strange 
ness  had  mixed  itself  up  with  his  daily  experience. 

With  such  feelings  he  prepared  himself  to  go  down 
to  dinner  with  his  host.  He  found  him  alone  at  table, 
which  was  placed  in  a  dark  old  room  modernized  with 
every  English  comfort  and  the  pleasant  spectacle  of  a 
table  set  with  the  whitest  of  napery  and  the  brightest 
of  glass  and  china.  The  friendly  old  gentleman,  as 
he  had  found  him  from  the  first,  became  doubly  and 
trebly  so  in  that  position  which  brings  out  whatever 
warmth  of  heart  an  Englishman  has,  and  gives  it  to 
him  if  he  has  none.  The  impressionable  and  sympa 
thetic  character  of  Middleton  answered  to  the  kind 
ness  of  his  host ;  and  by  the  time  the  meal  was  con 
cluded,  the  two  were  conversing  with  almost  as  much 

333 


APPENDIX 

zest  and  friendship  as  if  they  were  similar  in  age,  even 
fellow  countrymen,  and  had  known  one  another  all 
their  lifetime.  Middleton's  secret,  it  may  be  sup 
posed,  came  often  to  the  tip  of  his  tongue;  but  still 
he  kept  it  within,  from  a  natural  repugnance  to  bring 
out  the  one  romance  of  his  life.  The  talk,  however, 
necessarily  ran  much  upon  topics  among  which  this 
one  would  have  come  in  without  any  extra  attempt  to 
introduce  it. 

"  This  decay  of  old  families,"  said  the  Master,  "  is 
much  greater  than  would  appear  on  the  surface  of 
things.  We  have  such  a  reluctance  to  part  with  them, 
that  we  are  content  to  see  them  continued  by  any  fic 
tion,  through  any  indirections,  rather  than  to  dispense 
with  old  names.  In  your  country,  I  suppose,  there  is 
no  such  reluctance  ;  you  are  willing  that  one  genera 
tion  should  blot  out  all  that  preceded  it,  and  be  itself 
the  newest  and  only  age  of  the  world." 

"  Not  quite  so,"  answered  Middleton  ;  "  at  any  rate, 
if  there  be  such  a  feeling  in  the  people  at  large,  I  doubt 
whether,  even  in  England,  those  who  fancy  themselves 
possessed  of  claims  to  birth,  cherish  them  more  as  2 
treasure  than  we  do.  It  is,  of  course,  a  thousand  times 
more  difficult  for  us  to  keep  alive  a  name  amid  a  thou 
sand  difficulties  sedulously  thrown  around  it  by  our  in 
stitutions,  than  for  you  to  do,  where  your  institutions 
are  anxiously  calculated  to  promote  the  contrary  pur 
pose.  It  has  occasionally  struck  me,  however,  that  the 
ancient  lineage  might  often  be  found  in  America,  for 
a  family  which  has  been  compelled  to  prolong  itself 
here  through  the  female  line,  and  through  alien  stocks." 

"Indeed,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  Master,  "if 
334 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

that  be  the  case,  I  should  like  to  [speak?]  further 
with  you  upon  it  ;  for,  I  can  assure  you,  there  are 
sometimes  vicissitudes  in  old  families  that  make  me 
grieve  to  think  that  a  man  cannot  be  made  for  the  oc 
casion." 

All  this  while,  the  young  lady  at  table  had  remained 
almost  silent ;  and  Middleton  had  only  occasionally 
been  reminded  of  her  by  the  necessity  of  performing 
some  of  those  offices  which  put  people  at  table  under 
a  Christian  necessity  of  recognizing  one  another.  He 
was,  to  say  the  truth,  somewhat  interested  in  her,  yet 
not  strongly  attracted  by  the  neutral  tint  of  her  dress, 
and  the  neutral  character  of  her  manners.  She  did 
not  seem  to  be  handsome,  p^hough,  with  her  face  full 
before  him,  he  had  not  ^uite  made  up  his  mind  on 
this  point. 

April  ijtb.  —  So  here  was  Middleton,  now  at  length 
seeing  indistinctly  a  thread,  to  which  the  thread  that 
he  had  so  long  held  in  his  hand  —  the  hereditary  thread 
that  ancestor  after  ancestor  had  handed  down —  might 
seem  ready  to  join  on.  He  felt  as  if  they  were  the 
two  points  of  an  electric  chain,  which  being  joined, 
an  instantaneous  effect  must  follow.  Earnestly,  as  he 
would  have  looked  forward  to  this  moment  (had  he 
in  sober  reason  ever  put  any  real  weight  on  the  fan 
tasy  in  pursuit  of  which  he  had  wandered  so  far)  he 
now,  that  it  actually  appeared  to  be  realizing  itself, 
paused  with  a  vague  sensation  of  alarm.  The  mys 
tery  was  evidently  one  of  sorrow,  if  not  of  crime,  and 
he  felt  as  it  that  sorrow  and  crime  might  not  have 
been  annihilated  even  by  being  buried  out  of  human 
sight  and  remembrance  so  long.  He  remembered  to 
335 


APPENDIX 

have  heard  or  read,  how  that  once  an  old  pit  had  been 
dug  open,  in  which  were  found  the  remains  of  persons 
that,  as  the  shuddering  bystanders  traditionally  re 
membered,  had  died  of  an  ancient  pestilence ;  and  out 
of  that  old  grave  had  come  a  new  plague,  that  slew 
the  far-off  progeny  of  those  who  had  first  died  by  it. 
Might  not  some  fatal  treasure  like  this,  in  a  moral 
view,  be  brought  to  light  by  the  secret  into  which  he 
had  so  strangely  been  drawn  ?  Such  were  the  fanta 
sies  with  which  he  awaited  the  return  of  Alice,  whose 
light  footsteps  sounded  afar  along  the  passages  of  the 
old  mansion  ;  and  then  all  was  silent. 

At  length  he  heard  the  sound,  a  great  way  off,  as 
he  concluded,  of  her  returning  footstep,  approaching 
from  chamber  to  chamber,  and  along  the  staircases, 
closing  the  doors  behind  her.  At  first,  he  paid  no 
great  attention  to  the  character  of  these  sounds,  but  as 
they  drew  nearer,  he  became  aware  that  the  footstep 
was  unlike  those  of  Alice  ;  indeed,  as  unlike  as  could 
be,  very  regular,  slow,  yet  not  firm,  so  that  it  seemed 
to  be  that  of  an  aged  person,  sauntering  listlessly 
through  the  rooms.  We  have  often  alluded  to  Mid- 
dleton's  sensitiveness,  and  the  quick  vibrations  of  his 
sympathies  ;  and  there  was  something  in  this  slow  ap 
proach  that  produced  a  strange  feeling  within  him  ; 
so  that  he  stood  breathlessly,  looking  towards  the  door 
by  which  these  slow  footsteps  were  to  enter.  At 
last,  there  appeared  in  the  doorway  a  venerable  figure, 
clad  in  a  rich,  faded  dressing  gown,  and  standing  on 
the  threshold  looked  fixedly  at  Middleton,  at  the  same 
time  holding  up  a  light  in  his  left  hand.  In  his  right 
was  some  object  that  Middleton  did  not  distinctly  see. 

336 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

But  he  knew  the  figure,  and  recognized  the  face.  It 
was  the  old  man,  his  long  since  companion  on  the 
journey  hitherward. 

"  So,"  said  the  old  man,  smiling  gravely, "you  have 
thought  fit,  at  last,  to  accept  the  hospitality  which  I 
offered  you  so  long  ago.  It  might  have  been  better 
for  both  of  us  —  for  all  parties —  if  you  had  accepted 
it  then  !  " 

"  You  here  !  "  exclaimed  Middleton.  "  And  what 
can  be  your  connection  with  all  the  error  and  trouble, 
and  involuntary  wrong,  through  which  I  have  wan 
dered  since  our  last  meeting?  And  is  it  possible  that 
you  even  then  held  the  clue  which  I  was  seeking  ?  " 

"  No,  —  no,"  replied  Rothermel.  "  I  was  not  con 
scious,  at  least,  of  so  doing.  And  yet  had  we  two  sat 
down  there  by  the  wayside,  or  on  that  English  stile, 
which  attracted  your  attention  so  much  ;  had  we  sat 
down  there  and  thrown  forth  each  his  own  dream,  each 
his  own  knowledge,  it  would  have  saved  much  that  we 
must  now  forever  regret.  Are  you  even  now  ready  to 
confide  wholly  in  me  ?  " 

"Alas,"  said  Middleton,  with  a  darkening  brow, 
"  there  are  many  reasons,  at  this  moment,  which  did 
not  exist  then,  to  incline  me  to  hold  my  peace.  And 
why  has  not  Alice  returned  ?  —  and  what  is  your  con 
nection  with  her  ?  " 

"  Let  her  answer  for  herself,"  said  Rothermel ;  ano 
he  called  her,  shouting  through  the  silent  house  as  if 
she  were  at  the  furthest  chamber,  and  he  were  in  in 
stant  need  :  "  Alice  !  —  Alice  !  —  Alice  !  —  here  is  one 
who  would  know  what  is  the  link  between  a  maiden 
and  her  father  !  " 

337 


APPENDIX 

Amid  the  strange  uproar  which  he  made  Alice  came 
flying  back,  not  in  alarm  but  only  in  haste,  and  put 
her  hand  within  his  own.  "  Hush,  father,"  said  she. 
"  It  is  not  time." 

Here  is  an  abstract  of  the  plot  of  this  story.  The 
Middleton  who  emigrated  to  America,  more  than  two 
hundred  years  ago,  had  been  a  dark  and  moody  man  ; 
he  came  with  a  beautiful  though  not  young  woman  for 
his  wife,  and  left  a  family  behind  him.  In  this  family 
a  certain  heirloom  had  been  preserved,  and  with  it  a 
tradition  that  grew  wilder  and  stranger  with  the  pass 
ing  generations.  The  tradition  had  lost,  if  it  ever  had, 
some  of  its  connecting  links  ;  but  it  referred  to  a  mur 
der,  to  the  expulsion  of  a  brother  from  the  hereditary 
house,  in  some  strange  way,  and  to  a  Bloody  Footstep 
which  he  had  left  impressed  into  the  threshold,  as  he 
turned  about  to  make  a  last  remonstrance.  It  was 
rumored,  however,  or  vaguely  understood,  that  the  ex 
pelled  brother  was  not  altogether  an  innocent  man  ;  but 
that  there  had  been  wrong  done,  as  well  as  crime  com 
mitted,  insomuch  that  his  reasons  were  strong  that  led 
him,  subsequently,  to  imbibe  the  most  gloomy  religious 
views,  and  to  bury  himself  in  the  Western  wilderness. 
These  reasons  he  had  never  fully  imparted  to  his 
family  ;  but  had  necessarily  made  allusions  to  them, 
which  had  been  treasured  up  and  doubtless  enlarged 
upon.  At  last,  one  descendant  of  the  family  deter 
mines  to  go  to  England,  with  the  purpose  of  searching 
out  whatever  ground  there  may  be  for  these  traditions, 
carrying  with  him  certain  ancient  documents,  and  other 
relics  ;  and  goes  about  the  country,  half  in  earnest,  and 

338 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

half  in  sport  of  fancy,  in  quest  of  the  old  family  man 
sion.  He  makes  singular  discoveries,  all  of  which  bring 
the  book  to  an  end  unexpected  by  everybody,  and  not 
satisfactory  to  the  natural  yearnings  of  novel-readers. 
In  the  traditions  that  he  brought  over,  there  was  a 
key  to  some  family  secrets  that  were  still  unsolved,  and 
that  controlled  the  descent  of  estates  and  titles.  His 
influence  upon  these  matters  involves  [him]  in  divers 
strange  and  perilous  adventures  ;  and  at  last  it  turns 
out  that  he  himself  is  the  rightful  heir  to  the  titles  and 
estate,  that  had  passed  into  another  name  within  the 
last  half-century.  But  he  respects  both,  feeling  that 
it  is  better  to  make  a  virgin  soil  than  to  try  to  make 
the  old  name  grow  in  a  soil  that  had  been  darkened 
with  so  much  blood  and  misfortune  as  this. 

April  2jth,  Tuesday.  —  It  was  with  a  delightful 
feeling  cf  release  from  ordinary  rules,  that  Middleton 
found  himself  brought  into  this  connection  with  Alice ; 
and  he  only  hoped  that  this  playday  of  his  life  might 
last  long  enough  to  rest  him  from  all  that  he  had  suf 
fered.  In  the  enjoyment  of  his  position  he  almost  for 
got  the  pursuit  that  occupied  him,  nor  might  he  have 
remembered  for  a  long  space  if,  one  evening,  Alice 
herself  had  not  alluded  to  it.  "  You  are  wasting  pre 
cious  days,"  she  suddenly  said.  "  Why  do  not  you 
renew  your  quest  ?  " 

"  To  what  do  you  allude  ?  "  said  Middleton,  in  sur 
prise.  "  What  object  do  you  suppose  me  to  have  ?  " 

Alice  smiled  \  nay,  laughed  outright.  "  You  sup 
pose  yourself  to  be  a  perfect  mystery,  no  doubt,"  she 
replied.  "  But  do  not  I  know  you  —  have  not  I 
339 


APPENDIX 

known  you  long  —  as  the  holder  of  the  talisman,  the 
owner  of  the  mysterious  cabinet  that  contains  the 
blood-stained  secret  ? " 

"  Nay,  Alice,  this  is  certainly  a  strange  coincidence, 
that  you  should  know  even  thus  much  of  a  foolish 
secret  that  makes  me  employ  this  little  holiday  time, 
which  I  have  stolen  out  of  a  weary  life,  in  a  wild- 
goose  chase.  But,  believe  me,  you  allude  to  matters 
that  are  more  a  mystery  to  me  than  my  affairs  appear 
to  be  to  you.  Will  you  explain  what  you  would  sug 
gest  by  this  badinage  ?  " 

Alice  shook  her  head.  u  You  have  no  claim  to 
know  what  I  know,  even  if  it  would  be  any  addition 
to  your  own  knowledge.  I  shall  not,  and  must  not 
enlighten  you.  You  must  burrow  for  the  secret  with 
your  own  tools,  in  your  own  manner,  and  in  a  place 
of  your  own  choosing.  I  am  bound  not  to  assist  you." 

"  Alice,  this  is  wilful,  wayward,  unjust,"  cried  Mid- 
dleton,  with  a  flushed  cheek.  "  I  have  not  told  you  — 
yet  you  know  well  —  the  deep  and  real  importance 
which  this  subject  has  for  me.  We  have  been  together 
as  friends,  yet,  the  instant  when  there  comes  up  an  oc 
casion  when  the  slightest  friendly  feeling  would  induce 
you  to  do  me  a  good  office,  you  assume  this  altered 
tone." 

"  My  tone  is  not  in  the  least  altered  in  respect  to 
you,"  said  Alice.  "  All  along,  as  you  know,  I  have 
reserved  myself  on  this  very  point ;  it  being,  I  candidly 
tell  you,  impossible  for  me  to  act  in  your  interest  in 
the  matter  alluded  to.  If  you  choose  to  consider  this 
unfriendly,  as  being  less  than  the  terms  on  which  you 
conceive  us  to  have  stood  give  you  a  right  to  demand 
340 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

of  me  —  you  must  resent  it  as  you  please.  I  shall  not 
the  less  retain  for  you  the  regard  due  to  one  who  has 
certainly  befriended  me  in  very  untoward  circum 
stances." 

This  conversation  confirmed  the  previous  idea  of 
Middleton,  that  some  mystery  of  a  peculiarly  dark  and 
evil  character  was  connected  with  the  family  secret 
with  which  he  was  himself  entangled  ;  but  it  perplexed 
him  to  imagine  in  what  way  this,  after  the  lapse  of  so 
many  years,  should  continue  to  be  a  matter  of  real 
importance  at  the  present  day.  All  the  actors  in  the 
original  guilt  —  if  guilt  it  were  —  must  have  been  long 
ago  in  their  graves;  some  in  the  churchyard  of  the 
village,  with  those  moss-grown  letters  embossing  their 
names  ;  some  in  the  church  kself,  with  mural  tablets 
recording  their  names  over  the  family  pew,  and  one,  it 
might  be,  far  over  the  sea,  where  his  grave  was  first 
made  under  the  forest  leaves,  though  now  a  city  had 
grown  up  around  it.  Yet  here  was  he,  the  remote  de 
scendant  of  that  family,  setting  his  foot  at  last  in  the 
country,  and  as  secretly  as  might  be;  and  all  at  once 
his  mere  presence  seemed  to  revive  the  buried  secret, 
almost  to  awake  the  dead  who  partook  of  that  secret 
and  had  acted  it.  There  was  a  vibration  from  the 
other  world,  continued  and  prolonged  into  this,  the 
instant  that  he  stepped  upon  the  mysterious  and  haunted 
ground. 

He  knew  not  in  what  way  to  proceed.  He  could 
not  but  feel  that  there  was  something  not  exactly 
within  the  limits  of  propriety  in  being  here,  disguised 
—  at  least,  not  known  in  his  true  character  —  prying 
into  the  secrets  of  a  proud  and  secluded  Englishman. 
341 


APPENDIX 

But  then,  as  he  said  to  himself  on  his  own  side  of  the 
question,  the  secret  belonged  to  himself  by  exactly  as 
ancient  a  tenure  and  by  precisely  as  strong  a  claim,  as 
to  the  Englishman.  His  rights  here  were  just  as  pow- 
erful  and  well  founded  as  those  of  his  ancestor  had 
been,  nearly  three  centuries  ago ;  and  here  the  same 
feeling  came  over  him  that  he  was  that  very  personage, 
returned  after  all  these  ages,  to  see  if  his  foot  would 
fit  this  bloody  footstep  left  of  old  upon  the  threshold. 
The  result  of  all  his  cogitation  was,  as  the  reader  will 
have  foreseen,  that  he  decided  to  continue  his  re 
searches,  and,  his  proceedings  being  pretty  defensible, 
let  the  result  take  care  of  itself. 

For  this  purpose  he  went  next  day  to  the  hospital, 
and  ringing  at  the  Master's  door,  was  ushered  into  the 
old-fashioned,  comfortable  library,  where  he  had  spent 
that  well-remembered  evening  which  threw  the  first 
ray  of  light  on  the  pursuit  that  now  seemed  developing 
into  such  strange  and  unexpected  consequences.  Be 
ing  admitted,  he  was  desired  by  the  domestic  to  wait, 
as  his  Reverence  was  at  that  moment  engaged  with  a 
gentleman  on  business.  Glancing  through  the  ivy 
that  mantled  over  the  window,  Middleton  saw  that  this 
interview  was  taking  place  in  the  garden,  where  the 
Master  and  his  visitor  were  walking  to  and  fro  in  the 
avenue  of  box,  discussing  some  matter,  as  it  seemed  to 
him,  with  considerable  earnestness  on  both  sides.  He 
observed,  too,  that  there  was  warmth,  passion,  a  dis 
turbed  feeling  on  the  stranger's  part  ;  while,  on  that 
of  the  Master,  it  was  a  calm,  serious,  earnest  repre 
sentation  of  whatever  view  he  was  endeavoring  to  im 
press  on  the  other.  At  last,  the  interview  appeared 
342 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

to  come  toward  a  climax,  the  Master  addressing  some 
words  to  his  guest,  still  with  undisturbed  calmness,  to 
which  the  latter  replied  by  a  violent  and  even  fierce 
gesture,  as  it  should  seem  of  menace,  not  towards  the 
Master,  but  some  unknown  party  ;  and  then  hastily 
turning,  he  left  the  garden  and  was  soon  heard  riding 
away.  The  Master  looked  after  him  awhile,  and  then, 
shaking  his  white  head,  returned  into  the  house  and 
soon  entered  the  parlor. 

He  looked  somewhat  surprised,  and,  as  it  struck 
Middleton,  a  little  startled,  at  finding  him  there ;  yet 
he  welcomed  him  with  all-  his  former  cordiality  —  in 
deed,  with  a  friendship  that  thoroughly  warmed  Mid- 
dleton's  heart  even  to  its  coldest  corner. 

u  This  is  strange  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  Do 
you  remember  our  conversation  on  that  evening  when 
I  first  had  the  unlooked-for  pleasure  of  receiving  you 
as  a  guest  into  my  house  ?  At  that  time  I  spoke  to 
you  of  a  strange  family  story,  of  which  there  was  no 
denouement,  such  as  a  novel-writer  would  desire,  and 
which  had  remained  in  that  unfinished  posture  for  more 
than  two  hundred  years  !  Well ;  perhaps  it  will  grat 
ify  you  to  know  that  there  seems  a  prospect  of  that 
wanting  termination  being  supplied  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Middleton. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Master.  "  A  gentleman  has  just 
parted  with  me  who  was  indeed  the  representative  of 
the  family  concerned  in  the  story.  He  is  the  descend 
ant  of  a  younger  son  of  that  family,  to  whom  the  es 
tate  devolved  about  a  century  ago,  although  at  that 
time  there  was  search  for  the  heirs  of  the  elder  son, 
who  had  disappeared  after  the  bloody  incident  which  I 

343 


APPENDIX 

related  to  you.  Now,  singular  as  it  may  appear,  at 
this  late  day,  a  person  claiming  to  be  the  descendant 
and  heir  of  that  eldest  son  has  appeared,  and,  if  I  may 
credit  my  friend's  account,  is  disposed  not  only  to  claim 
the  estate,  but  the  dormant  title  which  Eldredge  him 
self  has  been  so  long  preparing  to  claim  for  himself. 
Singularly  enough,  too,  the  heir  is  an  American." 

May  2d,  Sunday. — "I  believe,"  said  Middleton, 
"  that  many  English  secrets  might  find  their  solution 
in  America,  if  the  two  threads  of  a  story  could  be 
brought  together,  disjoined  as  they  have  been  by  time 
and  the  ocean.  But  are  you  at  liberty  to  tell  me  the 
nature  of  the  incidents  to  which  you  allude  ?  " 

"I  do  not  see  any  reason  to  the  contrary,"  answered 
the  Master ;  u  for  the  story  has  already  come  in  an 
imperfect  way  before  the  public,  and  the  full  and  au 
thentic  particulars  are  likely  soon  to  follow.  It  seems 
that  the  younger  brother  was  ejected  from  the  house 
on  account  of  a  love  affair;  the  elder  having  married 
a  young  woman  with  whom  the  younger  was  in  love, 
and,  it  is  said,  the  wife  disappeared  on  the  bridal  night, 
and  was  never  heard  of  more.  The  elder  brother  re 
mained  single  during  the  rest  of  his  life ;  and  dying 
childless,  and  there  being  still  no  news  of  the  second 
brother,  the  inheritance  and  representation  of  the  fam 
ily  devolved  upon  the  third  brother  and  his  posterity. 
This  branch  of  the  family  has  ever  since  remained  in 
possession;  and  latterly  the  representation  has  become 
of  more  importance,  on  account  of  a  claim  to  an  old 
title,  which,  by  the  failure  of  another  branch  of  this 
ancient  family,  has  devolved  upon  the  branch  here  set 
tled.  Now,  just  at  this  juncture,  comes  another  heir 
344 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

from  America,  pretending  that  he  is  the  descendant  of 
a  marriage  between  the  second  son,  supposed  to  have 
been  murdered  on  the  threshold  of  the  manor  house, 
and  the  missing  bride !  Is  it  not  a  singular  story  ?  " 

"  It  would  seem  to  require  very  strong  evidence  to 
prove  it,"  said  Middleton.  "  And  methinks  a  Repub 
lican  should  care  little  for  the  title,  however  he  might 
value  the  estate." 

"Both  —  both,"  said  the  Master,  smiling,  "would 
be  equally  attractive  to  your  countryman.  But  there 
are  further  curious  particulars  in  connection  with  this 
claim.  You  must  know,  they  are  a  family  of  singular 
characteristics,  humorists,  sometimes  developing  their 
queer  traits  into  something  like  insanity  ;  though  of- 
tener,  I  must  say,  spending  stupid  hereditary  lives  here 
on  their  estates,  rusting  out  and  dying  without  leaving 
any  biography  whatever  about  them.  And  yet  there 
has  always  been  one  very  queer  thing  about  this  gen 
erally  very  commonplace  family.  It  is  that  each  father, 
on  his  deathbed,  has  had  an  interview  with  his  son,  at 
which  he  has  imparted  some  secret  that  has  evidently 
had  an  influence  on  the  character  and  after  life  of  the 
son,  making  him  ever  after  a  discontented  man,  aspir 
ing  for  something  he  has  never  been  able  to  find.  Now 
the  American,  I  am  told,  pretends  that  he  has  the  clue 
which  has  always  been  needed  to  make  the  secret  avail 
able;  the  key  whereby  the  lock  may  be  opened;  the 
something  that  the  lost  son  of  the  family  carried  away 
with  him,  and  by  which  through  these  centuries  he  has 
impeded  the  progress  of  the  race.  And,  wild  as  the 
story  seems,  he  does  certainly  seem  to  bring  something 
that  looks  very  like  the  proof  of  what  he  says." 
345 


APPENDIX 

u  And  what  are  those  proofs  ?  "  inquired  Middleton, 
wonder-stricken  at  the  strange  reduplication  of  his  own 
position  and  pursuits. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  the  Master,  "the  English 
marriage  certificate  by  a  clergyman  of  that  day  in  Lon 
don,  after  publication  of  the  banns,  with  a  reference 
to  the  register  of  the  parish  church  where  the  marriage 
is  recorded.  Then,  a  certified  genealogy  of  the  family 
in  New  England,  where  such  matters  can  be  ascer 
tained  from  town  and  church  records,  with  at  least  as 
much  certainty,  it  would  appear,  as  in  this  country. 
He  has  likewise  a  manuscript  in  his  ancestor's  auto 
graph,  containing  a  brief  account  of  the  events  which 
banished  him  from  his  own  country;  the  circumstances 
which  favored  the  idea  that  he  had  been  slain,  and 
which  he  himself  was  willing  should  be  received  as  a 
belief;  the  fortune  that  led  him  to  America,  where  he 
wished  to  found  a  new  race  wholly  disconnected  with 
the  past ;  and  this  manuscript  he  sealed  up,  with  di 
rections  that  it  should  not  be  opened  till  two  hundred 
years  after  his  death,  by  which  time,  as  it  was  probable 
to  conjecture,  it  would  matter  little  to  any  mortal 
whether  the  story  was  told  or  not.  A  whole  genera 
tion  has  passed  since  the  time  when  the  paper  was  at 
last  unsealed  and  read,  so  long  it  had  no  operation  ;  yet 
now,  at  last,  here  comes  the  American,  to  disturb  the 
succession  of  an  ancient  family  !  " 

u  There  is  something  very  strange  in  all  this,"  said 
Middleton. 

And  indeed  there  was  something  stranger  in  his  view 
of  the  matter  than  he  had  yet  communicated  to  the 
Master.  For,  taking  into  consideration  the  relation 

346 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

in  which  he  found  himself  with  the  present  recognized 
representative  of  the  family,  the  thought  struck  him 
that  his  coming  hither  had  dug  up,  as  it  were,  a  buried 
secret  that  immediately  assumed  life  and  activity  the 
moment  that  it  was  above  ground  again.  For  seven 
generations  the  family  had  vegetated  in  the  quietude 
of  English  country  gentility,  doing  nothing  to  make 
itself  known,  passing  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb  amid 
the  same  old  woods  that  had  waved  over  it  before  his 
ancestor  had  impressed  the  bloody  footstep ;  and  yet 
the  instant  that  he  came  back,  an  influence  seemed  to 
be  at  work  that  was  likely  to  renew  the  old  history  of 
the  family.  He  questioned  with  himself  whether  it 
were  not  better  to  leave  all  as  it  was  •,  to  withdraw 
himself  into  the  secrecy  from  which  he  had  but  half 
emerged,  and  leave  the  family  to  keep  on,  to  the  end 
of  time  perhaps,  in  its  rusty  innocence,  rather  than  to 
interfere  with  his  wild  American  character  to  disturb 
it.  The  smell  of  that  dark  crime  —  that  brotherly 
hatred  and  attempted  murder  —  seemed  to  breathe  out 
of  the  ground  as  he  dug  it  up.  Was  it  not  better  that 
it  should  remain  forever  buried,  for  what  to  him  was 
this  old  English  title — what  this  estate,  so  far  from 
his  own  native  land,  located  amidst  feelings  and  man 
ners  which  would  never  be  his  own  ?  It  was  late,  to 
be  sure  —  yet  not  too  late  for  him  to  turn  back:  the 
vibration,  the  fear,  which  his  footsteps  had  caused, 
would  subside  into  peace  !  Meditating  in  this  way, 
he  took  a  hasty  leave  of  the  kind  old  Master,  promis 
ing  to  see  him  again  at  an  early  opportunity.  By 
chance,  or  however  it  was,  his  footsteps  turned  to  the 

woods  of Chace,  and  there  he  wandered  through 

347 


APPENDIX 

its  glades,  deep  in  thought,  yet  always  with  a  strange 
sense  that  he  was  treading  on  the  soil  where  his  ances 
tors  had  trodden,  and  where  he  himself  had  best  right 
of  all  men  to  be.  It  was  just  in  this  state  of  feeling 
that  he  found  his  course  arrested  by  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"What  business  have  you  here?"  was  the  question 
sounded  in  his  ear ;  and,  starting,  he  found  himself  in 
the  grasp,  as  his  blood  tingled  to  know,  of  a  gentleman 
in  a  shooting  dress,  who  looked  at  him  with  a  wrath 
ful  brow.  "  Are  you  a  poacher,  or  what  ?  " 

Be  the  case  what  it  might,  Middleton's  blood  boiled 
at  the  grasp  of  that  hand,  as  it  never  before  had  done 
in  the  course  of  his  impulsive  life.  He  shook  himself 
free,  and  stood  fiercely  before  his  antagonist,  confront 
ing  him  with  his  uplifted  stick,  while  the  other,  like 
wise,  appeared  to  be  shaken  by  a  strange  wrath. 

"  Fellow,"  muttered  he  —  "Yankee  blackguard  !  — 
impostor — take  yourself  off  these  grounds.  Quick, 
or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you  !  " 

Middleton  restrained  himself.  "  Mr.  Eldredge," 
said  he,  "for  I  believe  I  speak  to  the  man  who  calls 
himself  owner  of  this  land  on  which  we  stand, —  Mr. 
Eldredge,  you  are  acting  under  a  strange  misapprehen 
sion  of  my  character.  I  have  come  hither  with  no 
sinister  purpose,  and  am  entitled,  at  the  hands  of  a  gen 
tleman,  to  the  consideration  of  an  honorable  antago 
nist,  even  if  you  deem  me  one  at  all.  And  perhaps, 
if  you  think  upon  the  blue  chamber  and  the  ebony 
cabinet,  and  the  secret  connected  with  it  "  — 

"  Villain,  no  more  !  "  said  Eldredge ;  and  utterly 
mad  with  rage,  he  presented  his  gun  at  Middleton  ;  but 

348 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

even  at  the  moment  of  doing  so,  he  partly  restrained 
himself,  so  far  as,  instead  of  shooting  him,  to  raise  the 
butt  of  his  gun,  and  strike  a  blow  at  him.  It  came 
down  heavily  on  Middleton's  shoulder,  though  aimed 
at  his  head  ;  and  the  blow  was  terribly  avenged,  even 
by  itself,  for  the  jar  caused  the  hammer  to  come  down ; 
the  gun  went  off,  sending  the  bullet  downwards  through 
the  heart  of  the  unfortunate  man,  who  fell  dead  upon 
the  ground.  Eldredge  1  stood  stupefied,  looking  at  the 
catastrophe  which  had  so  suddenly  occurred. 

May  jd,  Monday.  —  So  here  was  the  secret  suddenly 
made  safe  in  this  so  terrible  way  ;  its  keepers  reduced 
from  two  parties  to  one  interest ;  the  other  who  alone 
knew  of  this  age-long  mystery  and  trouble  now  carry 
ing  it  into  eternity,  where  a  long  line  of  those  who 
partook  of  the  knowledge,  in  each  successive  genera 
tion,  might  now  be  waiting  to  inquire  of  him  how  he 
had  held  his  trust.  He  had  kept  it  well,  there  was  no 
doubt  of  it ;  for  there  he  lay  dead  upon  the  ground, 
having  betrayed  it  to  no  one,  though  by  a  method 
which  none  could  have  foreseen,  the  whole  had  come 
into  the  possession  of  him  who  had  brought  hither  but 
half  of  it.  Middleton  looked  down  in  horror  upon 
the  form  that  had  just  been  so  full  of  life  and  wrathful 
vigor  —  and  now  lay  so  quietly.  Being  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  any  purpose  to  bring  about  the  catastrophe, 
it  had  not  at  first  struck  him  that  his  own  position 
was  in  any  manner  affected  by  the  violent  death,  under 
such  circumstances,  of  the  unfortunate  man.  But  now 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  him,  that  there  had  been  a 
train  of  incidents  all  calculated  to  make  him  the  ob- 

1  Evidently  a  slip  of  the  pen  ;   Middleton  being  intended. 

349 


APPENDIX 

ject  of  suspicion ;  and  he  felt  that  he  could  not,  under 
the  English  administration  of  law,  be  suffered  to  go  at 
large  without  rendering  a  strict  account  of  himself  and 
his  relations  with  the  deceased.  He  might,  indeed,  fly; 
he  might  still  remain  in  the  vicinity,  and  possibly  es 
cape  notice.  But  was  not  the  risk  too  great  ?  Was 
it  just  even  to  be  aware  of  this  event,  and  not  relate 
fully  the  manner  of  it,  lest  a  suspicion  of  blood-guilt 
iness  should  rest  upon  some  innocent  head?  But 
while  he  was  thus  cogitating,  he  heard  footsteps  ap 
proaching  along  the  wood  path ;  and  half  impulsively, 
half  on  purpose,  he  stept  aside  into  the  shrubbery,  but- 
still  where  he  could  see  the  dead  body,  and  what 
passed  near  it. 

The  footsteps  came  on,  and  at  the  turning  of  the 
path,  just  where  Middleton  had  met  Eldredge,  the  new 
comer  appeared  in  sight.  It  was  Hoper,  in  his  usual 
dress  of  velveteen,  looking  now  seedy,  poverty-stricken, 
and  altogether  in  ill  case,  trudging  moodily  along,  with 
his  hat  pulled  over  his  brows,  so  that  he  did  not  see 
the  ghastly  object  before  him  till  his  foot  absolutely 
trod  upon  the  dead  man's  hand.  Being  thus  made 
aware  of  the  proximity  of  the  corpse,  he  started  back 
a  little,  yet  evincing  such  small  emotion  as  did  credit 
to  his  English  reserve ;  then  uttering  a  low  exclama 
tion, —  cautiously  low,  indeed,  —  he  stood  looking  at 
the  corpse  a  moment  or  two,  apparently  in  deep  medi 
tation.  He  then  drew  near,  bent  down,  and  without 
evincing  any  horror  at  the  touch  of  death  in  this  horrid 
shape,  he  opened  the  dead  man's  vest,  inspected  the 
wound,  satisfied  himself  that  life  was  extinct,  and  then 
nodded  his  head  and  smiled  gravely.  He  next  pro- 
350 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

ceeded  to  examine  seriatim  the  dead  man's  pockets, 
turning  each  of  them  inside  out  and  taking  the  con 
tents,  where  they  appeared  adapted  to  his  needs  :  for 
instance,  a  silken  purse,  through  the  interstices  of 
which  some  gold  was  visible  ;  a  watch,  which  how 
ever  had  been  injured  by  the  explosion,  and  had  stopt 
just  at  the  moment  —  twenty-one  minutes  past  five 
—  when  the  catastrophe  took  place.  Hoper  ascer 
tained,  by  putting  the  watch  to  his  ear,  that  this  was 
the  case;  then  pocketing  it,  he  continued  his  researches. 
He  likewise  secured  a  notebook,  on  examining  which 
he  found  several  bank  notes,  and  some  other  papers. 
And  having  done  this,  the  thief  stood  considering  what 
to  do  next ;  nothing  better  occurring  to  him,  he  thrust 
the  pockets  back,  gave  the  corpse  as  nearly  as  he  could 
the  same  appearance  that  k  had  worn  before  he  found 
it,  and  hastened  away,  leaving  the  horror  there  on 
the  wood  path. 

He  had  been  gone  only  a  few  minutes  when  another 
step,  a  light  woman's  step,  [was  heard]  coming  along 
the  pathway,  and  Alice  appeared,  having  on  her  usual 
white  mantle,  straying  along  with  that  fearlessness 
which  characterized  her  so  strangely,  and  made  her 
seem  like  one  of  the  denizens  of  nature.  She  was 
singing  in  a  low  tone  some  one  of  those  airs  which 
have  become  so  popular  in  England,  as  negro  melodies ; 
when  suddenly,  looking  before  her,  she  saw  the  blood 
stained  body  on  the  grass,  the  face  looking  ghastly  up 
ward.  Alice  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  heart;  it  was 
not  her  habit  to  scream,  not  the  habit  of  that  strong, 
wild,  self-dependent  nature;  and  the  exclamation  which 
broke  from  her  was  not  for  help,  but  the  voice  of  her 
351 


APPENDIX 

heart  crying  out  to  herself.  For  an  instant  she  hesi 
tated,  as  [if]  not  knowing  what  to  do ;  then  approached, 
and  with  her  white,  maiden  hand  felt  the  brow  of  the 
dead  man,  tremblingly,  but  yet  firm,  and  satisfied  her 
self  that  life  had  wholly  departed.  She  pressed  her 
hand,  that  had  just  touched  the  dead  man's,  on  her 
forehead,  and  gave  a  moment  to  thought. 

What  her  decision  might  have  been,  we  cannot  say, 
for  while  she  stood  in  this  attitude,  Middleton  stept 
from  his  seclusion,  and  at  the  noise  of  his  approach 
she  turned  suddenly  round,  looking  more  frightened 
and  agitated  than  at  the  moment  when  she  had  first 
seen  the  dead  body.  She  faced  Middleton,  however, 
and  looked  him  quietly  in  the  eye.  "  You  see  this  !  " 
said  she,  gazing  fixedly  at  him.  u  It  is  not  at  this 
moment  that  you  first  discover  it." 

"  No,"  said  Middleton  frankly.  u  It  is  not.  I  was 
present  at  the  catastrophe.  In  one  sense,  indeed,  I 
was  the  cause  of  it ;  but,  Alice,  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  I  am  no  murderer." 

"A  murderer?  —  no,'  said  Alice,  still  looking  at 
him  with  the  same  fixed  gaze.  "  But  you  and  this 
man  were  at  deadly  variance.  He  would  have  rejoiced 
at  any  chance  that  would  have  laid  you  cold  and  bloody 
on  the  earth,  as  he  is  now  ;  nay,  he  would  most  eagerly 
have  seized  on  any  fair-looking  pretext  that  would  have 
given  him  a  chance  to  stretch  you  there.  The  world 
will  scarcely  believe,  when  it  knows  all  about  your  re 
lations  with  him,  that  his  blood  is  not  on  your  hand. 
Indeed,"  said  she,  with  a  strange  smile,  "  I  see  some 
of  it  there  now  !  " 

And,  in  very  truth,  so  there  was ;  a  broad  blood- 
352 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

stain  that  had  dried  on  Middleton's  hand.  He  shud 
dered  at  it,  but  essayed  vainly  to  rub  it  off. 

"  You  see,"  said  she.  "  It  was  foreordained  that 
you  should  shed  this  man's  blood ;  foreordained  that, 
by  digging  into  that  old  pit  of  pestilence,  you  should 
set  the  contagion  loose  again.  You  should  have  left 
it  buried  forever.  But  now  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"To  proclaim  this  catastrophe,"  replied  Middleton. 
"  It  is  the  only  honest  and  manly  way.  What  else 
can  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  can  and  ought  to  leave  him  on  the  wood 
path,  where  he  has  fallen,"  said  Alice,  u  and  go  your 
self  to  take  advantage  of  the  state  of  things  which 
Providence  has  brought  about.  Enter  the  old  house, 
the  hereditary  house,  where  —  now,  at  least  —  you 
alone  have  a  right  to  tread.  Now  is  the  hour.  All  is 
within  your  grasp.  Let  the  wrong  of  three  hundred 
years  be  righted,  and  come  back  thus  to  your  own,  to 
these  hereditary  fields, this  quiet, long-descended  home; 
to  title,  to  honor." 

Yet  as  the  wild  maiden  spoke  thus,  there  was  a  sort 
of  mockery  in  her  eyes ;  on  her  brow  ;  gleaming 
through  all  her  face,  as  if  she  scorned  what  she  thus 
pressed  upon  him,  the  spoils  of  the  dead  man  who  lay 
at  their  feet.  Middleton,  with  his  susceptibility,  could 
not  [but]  be  sensible  of  a  wild  and  strange  charm,  as 
well  as  horror,  in  the  situation  ;  it  seemed  such  a  won 
der  that  here,  in  formal,  orderly,  well-governed  Eng 
land,  so  wild  a  scene  as  this  should  have  occurred ; 
that  they  too  [two  ?]  should  stand  here,  deciding  on 
the  descent  of  an  estate,  and  the  inheritance  of  a  title, 
holding  a  court  of  their  own. 

353 


APPENDIX 

"  Come,  then,"  said  he,  at  length.  "  Let  us  leave 
this  poor  fallen  antagonist  in  his  blood,  and  go  whither 
you  will  lead  me.  I  will  judge  for  myself.  At  all 
events,  I  will  not  leave  my  hereditary  home  without 
knowing  what  my  power  is." 

"  Come,"  responded  Alice  ;  and  she  turned  back ; 
but  then  returned  and  threw  a  handkerchief  over  the 
dead  man's  face,  which  while  they  spoke  had  assumed 
that  quiet,  ecstatic  expression  of  joy  which  often  is 
observed  to  overspread  the  faces  of  those  who  die  of 
gunshot  wounds,  however  fierce  the  passion  in  which 
the  spirits  took  their  flight.  With  this  strange,  grand, 
awful  joy  did  the  dead  man  gaze  upward  into  the  very 
eyes  and  hearts,  as  it  were,  of  the  two  that  now  bent 
over  him.  They  looked  at  one  another. 

"  Whence  comes  this  expression  ?  "  said  Middleton 
thoughtfully.  "Alice,  methinks  he  is  reconciled  to 
us  now ;  and  that  we  are  members  of  one  reconciled 
family,  all  of  whom  are  in  heaven  but  me." 

Tuesday,  May  ^.th.  —  "  How  strange  is  this  whole 
situation  between  you  and  me,"  said  Middleton,  as  they 
went  up  the  winding  pathway  that  led  towards  the 
house.  "  Shall  I  ever  understand  it  ?  Do  you  mean 
ever  to  explain  it  to  me  ?  That  I  should  find  you 
here  with  that  old  man,1  so  mysterious,  apparently 

1  The  allusion  here  is  apparently  to  the  old  man  who  proclaims  himself 
Alice's  father,  in  the  portion  dated  April  I4th.  He  figures  hereafter  as  the 
old  Hospitaller,  Hammond.  The  reader  must  not  take  this  present  passage 
as  referring  to  the  death  of  Eldredge,  which  has  just  taken  place  in  the  pre 
ceding  section.  The  author  is  now  beginning  to  elaborate  the  relation  of 
Middleton  and  Alice.  As  will  be  seen,  farther  on,  the  death  of  Eldredge 
is  ignored  and  abandoned  j  Eldredge  is  revived,  and  the  story  proceeds  in  an 
other  way.  —  G.  P.  L. 

354 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

so  poor,  yet  so  powerful  !     What  [is]  his  relation  to 
you  ? " 

"A  close  one,"  replied  Alice  sadly.  "  He  was  my 
father  !  " 

"  Your  father  !  "  repeated  Middleton,  starting  back. 
u  It  does  but  heighten  the  wonder !  Your  father !  And 
yet,  by  all  the  tokens  that  birth  and  breeding,  and  habits 
of  thought  and  native  character  can  show,  you  are  my 
countrywoman.  That  wild,  free  spirit  was  never  born 
in  the  breast  of  an  Englishwoman  ;  that  slight  frame, 
that  slender  beauty,  that  frail  envelopment  of  a  quick, 
piercing,  yet  stubborn  and  patient  spirit,  —  are  those 
the  properties  of  an  English  maiden  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  Alice  quietly.  "  I  am  your 
countrywoman.  My  father  was  an  American,  and  one 
of  whom  you  have  heard  — and  no  good,  alas  !  —  for 
many  a  year." 

"  And  who  then  was  he  ?  "  asked  Middleton. 

u  I  know  not  whether  you  will  hate  me  for  telling 
you,"  replied  Alice,  looking  him  sadly  though  firmly 
in  the  face.  "  There  was  a  man  —  long  years  since, 
in  your  childhood — whose  plotting  brain  proved  the 
ruin  of  himself  and  many  another  j  a  man  whose  great 
designs  made  him  a  sort  of  potentate,  whose  schemes 
became  of  national  importance,  and  produced  results 
even  upon  the  history  of  the  country  in  which  he 
acted.  That  man  was  my  father ;  a  man  wrho  sought 
to  do  great  things,  and,  like  many  who  have  had  sim 
ilar  aims,  disregarded  many  small  rights,  strode  over 
them,  on  his  way  to  effect  a  gigantic  purpose.  Among 
other  men,  your  father  was  trampled  under  foot,  ruined, 
done  to  death,  even,  by  the  effects  of  his  ambition." 
355 


APPENDIX 

"  How  is  it  possible !  "  exclaimed  Middleton.  "  Was 
it  Wentworth  ?  " 

u  Even  so,"  said  Alice,  still  with  the  same  sad  calm 
ness  and  not  withdrawing  her  steady  eyes  from  his 
face.  "  After  his  ruin ;  after  the  catastrophe  that  over 
whelmed  him  and  hundreds  more,  he  took  to  flight ; 
guilty,  perhaps,  but  guilty  as  a  fallen  conqueror  is ; 
guilty  to  such  an  extent  that  he  ceased  to  be  a  cheat, 
as  a  conqueror  ceases  to  be  a  murderer.  He  came  to 
England.  My  father  had  an  original  nobility  of  nature ; 
and  his  life  had  not  been  such  as  to  debase  it,  but 
rather  such  as  to  cherish  and  heighten  that  self-esteem 
which  at  least  keeps  the  possessor  of  it  from  many 
meaner  vices.  He  took  nothing  with  him  ;  nothing 
beyond  the  bare  means  of  flight,  with  the  world  before 
him,  although  thousands  of  gold  would  not  have  been 
missed  out  of  the  scattered  fragments  of  ruin  that  lay 
around  him.  He  found  his  way  hither,  led,  as  you 
were,  by  a  desire  to  reconnect  himself  with  the  place 
whence  his  family  had  originated  ;  for  he,  too,  was  of 
a  race  which  had  something  to  do  with  the  ancient 
story  which  has  now  been  brought  to  a  close.  Arrived 
here,  there  were  circumstances  that  chanced  to  make 
his  talents  and  habits  of  business  available  to  this  Mr. 
Eldredge,  a  man  ignorant  and  indolent,  unknowing  how 
to  make  the  best  of  the  property  that  was  in  his  hands. 
By  degrees,  he  took  the  estate  into  his  management, 
acquiring  necessarily  a  preponderating  influence  over 
such  a  man.'* 

u  And  you,"  said  Middleton.  "  Have  you  been  all 
along  in  England  ?  For  you  must  have  been  little  more 
than  an  infant  at  the  time." 

356 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

u  A  mere  infant,"  said  Alice,  "  and  I  remained  in 
our  own  country  under  the  care  of  a  relative  who  left 
me  much  to  my  own  keeping;  much  to  the  influences 
of  that  wild  culture  which  the  freedom  of  our  country 
gives  to  its  youth.  It  is  only  two  years  that  I  have 
been  in  England." 

"This,  then,"  said  Middleton  thoughtfully,  "ac 
counts  for  much  that  has  seemed  so  strange  in  the 
events  through  which  we  have  passed ;  for  the  know 
ledge  of  my  identity  and  my  half-defined  purpose  which 
has  always  glided  before  me,  and  thrown  so  many 
strange  shapes  of  difficulty  in  my  path.  But  whence, 
—  whence  came  that  malevolence  which  your  father's 
conduct  has  so  unmistakably  shown  ?  I  had  done  him 
no  injury,  though  I  had  suffered  much." 

"  I  have  often  thought,"  replied  Alice,  "  that  my 
father,  though  retaining  a  preternatural  strength  and 
acuteness  of  intellect,  was  really  not  altogether  sane. 
And,  besides,  he  had  made  it  his  business  to  keep  this 
estate,  and  all  the  complicated  advantages  of  the  repre 
sentation  of  this  old  family,  secure  to  the  person  who 
was  deemed  to  have  inherited  them.  A  succession  of 
ages  and  generations  might  be  supposed  to  have  blotted 
out  your  claims  from  existence ;  for  it  is  not  just  that 
there  should  be  no  term  of  time  which  can  make 
security  for  lack  of  fact  and  a  few  formalities.  At  all 
events,  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  his  duty  was  to 
act  as  he  has  done." 

"  Be  it  so  !  I  do  net  seek  to  throw  blame  on  him," 
said  Middleton.  "  Besides,  Alice,  he  was  your  father !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  sadly  smiling ;  "  let  him  [have] 
what  protection  that  thought  may  give  him,  even 
357 


APPENDIX 

though  I  lose  what  he  may  gain.  And  now  here  we 
are  at  the  house.  At  last,  come  in  !  It  is  your  own  ; 
there  is  none  that  can  longer  forbid  you  !  " 

They  entered  the  door  of  the  old  mansion,  now  a 
farmhouse,  and  there  were  its  old  hall,  its  old  chambers, 
all  before  them.  They  ascended  the  staircase,  and 
stood  on  the  landing  place  above  ;  while  Middleton 
had  again  that  feeling  that  had  so  often  made  him 
dizzy,  —  that  sense  of  being  in  one  dream  and  recog 
nizing  the  scenery  and  events  of  a  former  dream.  So 
overpowering  was  this  feeling,  that  he  laid  his  hand 
on  the  slender  arm  of  Alice,  to  steady  himself;  and 
she  comprehended  the  emotion  that  agitated  him,  and 
looked  into  his  eyes  with  a  tender  sympathy,  which 
she  had  never  before  permitted  to  be  visible,  —  per 
haps  never  before  felt.  He  steadied  himself  and  fol 
lowed  her  till  they  had  entered  an  ancient  chamber,  but 
one  that  was  finished  with  all  the  comfortable  luxury 
customary  to  be  seen  in  English  homes. 

"  Whither  have  you  led  me  now  ?  "  inquired  Mid 
dleton. 

"  Look  round,"  said  Alice.  "  Is  there  nothing  here 
that  you  ought  to  recognize  ?  —  nothing  that  you  kept 
the  memory  of,  long  ago  ?  " 

He  looked  round  the  room  again  and  again,  and  at 
last,  in  a  somewhat  shadowy  corner,  he  espied  an  old 
cabinet  made  of  ebony  and  inlaid  with  pearl ;  one  of 
those  tall,  stately,  and  elaborate  pieces  of  furniture  that 
are  rather  articles  of  architecture  than  upholstery  ;  and 
on  which  a  higher  skill,  feeling,  and  genius  than  now 
is  ever  employed  on  such  things,  was  expended.  Alice 
drew  near  the  stately  cabinet  and  threw  wide  the  doors, 

358 


His  band  on  the  slender  arm 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

which,  like  the  portals  of  a  palace,  stood  between  two 
pillars ;  it  all  seemed  to  be  unlocked,  showing  within 
some  beautiful  old  pictures  in  the  panel  of  the  doors, 
and  a  mirror,  that  opened  a  long  succession  of  mimic 
halls,  reflection  upon  reflection,  extending  to  an  in 
terminable  nowhere. 

"  And  what  is  this  ?  "  said  Middleton, —  "  a  cabi 
net  ?  Why  do  you  draw  my  attention  so  strongly  to 
it  ?  " 

"  Look  at  it  well,"  said  she.  "  Do  you  recognize 
nothing  there  ?  Have  you  forgotten  your  description  ? 
The  stately  palace  with  its  architecture,  each  pillar 
with  its  architecture,  those  pilasters,  that  frieze ;  you 
ought  to  know  them  all.  Somewhat  less  than  you 
imagined  in  size,  perhaps  ;  a  fairy  reality,  inches  for 
yards  ;  that  is  the  only  difference.  And  you  have  the 
key  ?  " 

And  there  then  was  that  palace,  to  which  tradition, 
so  false  at  once  and  true,  had  given  such  magnitude  and 
magnificence  in  the  traditions  of  the  Middleton  family, 
around  their  shifting  fireside  in  America.  Looming 
afar  through  the  mists  of  time,  the  little  fact  had  be 
come  a  gigantic  vision.  Yes,  here  it  was  in  minia 
ture,  all  that  he  had  dreamed  of ;  a  palace  of  four  feet 
high! 

"  You  have  the  key  of  this  palace,"  said  Alice  ;  "  it 
has  waited  —  that  is,  its  secret  and  precious  chamber 
has,  for  you  to  open  it,  these  three  hundred  years.  Do 
you  know  how  to  find  that  secret  chamber  ?  " 

Middleton,  still  in  that  dreamy  mood,  threw  open  an 
inner  door  of  the  cabinet,  and  applying  the  old-fashioned 
key  at  his  watch  chain  to  a  hole  in  the  mimic  pavement 
359 


APPENDIX     i 

within,  pressed  one  of  the  mosaics,  and  immediately  the 
whole  floor  of  the  apartment  sank,  and  revealed  a  re 
ceptacle  within.  Alice  had  come  forward  eagerly,  and 
they  both  looked  into  the  hiding  place,  expecting  what 
should  be  there.  It  was  empty  !  They  looked  into 
each  other's  faces  with  blank  astonishment.  Every 
thing  had  been  so  strangely  true,  and  so  strangely  false, 
up  to  this  moment,  that  they  could  not  comprehend 
this  failure  at  the  last  moment.  It  was  the  strangest, 
saddest  jest !  It  brought  Middleton  up  with  such  a  sud 
den  revulsion  that  he  grew  dizzy,  and  the  room  swam 
round  him  and  the  cabinet  dazzled  before  his  eyes.  It 
had  been  magnified  to  a  palace;  it  had  dwindled  down 
to  Lilliputian  size ;  and  yet,  up  till  now,  it  had  seemed 
to  contain  in  its  diminutiveness  all  the  riches  which  he 
had  attributed  to  its  magnitude.  This  last  moment  had 
utterly  subverted  it ;  the  whole  great  structure  seemed 
to  vanish. 

u  See ;  here  are  the  dust  and  ashes  of  it,"  observed 
Alice,  taking  something  that  was  indeed  only  a  pinch 
of  dust  out  of  the  secret  compartment.  tc  There  is 
nothing  else." 

II 

May  5th,  Wednesday.  —  The  father  of  these  two 
sons,  an  aged  man  at  the  time,  took  much  to  heart 
their  enmity ;  and  after  the  catastrophe,  he  never  held 
up  his  head  again.  He  was  not  told  that  his  son  had 
perished,  though  such  was  the  belief  of  the  family  ;  but 
imbibed  the  opinion  that  he  had  left  his  home  and  na 
tive  land  to  become  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
360 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

and  that  some  time  or  other  he  might  return.  In  this 
idea  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  days;  in  this  idea  he 
died.  It  may  be  that  the  influence  of  this  idea  might 
be  traced  in  the  way  in  which  he  spent  some  of  the 
latter  years  of  his  life,  and  a  portion  of  the  wealth 
which  had  become  of  little  value  in  his  eyes,  since  it 
had  caused  dissension  and  bloodshed  between  the  sons 
of  one  household.  It  was  a  common  mode  of  charity 
in  those  days  —  a  common  thing  for  rich  men  to  do  — 
to  found  an  almshouse  or  a  hospital,  and  endow  it,  for 
the  support  of  a  certain  number  of  old  and  destitute 
men  or  women,  generally  such  as  had  some  claim  of 
blood  upon  the  founder,  or  at  least  were  natives  of  the 
parish,  the  district,  the  county,  where  he  dwelt.  The 
Eldredge  Hospital  was  founded  for  the  benefit  of  twelve 
old  men,  who  should  have  been  wanderers  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth  ;  men,  they  should  be,  of  some  edu 
cation,  but  defeated  and  hopeless,  cast  off  by  the  world 
for  misfortune,  but  not  for  crime.  And  this  charity 
had  subsisted,  on  terms  varying  little  or  nothing  from 
the  original  ones,  from  that  day  to  this ;  and,  at  this 
very  time,  twelve  old  men  were  not  wanting,  of  vari 
ous  countries,  of  various  fortunes,  but  all  ending  finally 
in  ruin,  who  had  centred  here,  to  live  on  the  poor  pit 
tance  that  had  been  assigned  to  them,  three  hundred 
years  ago.  What  a  series  of  chronicles  it  would  have 
been  if  each  of  the  beneficiaries  of  this  charity,  since 
its  foundation,  had  left  a  record  of  the  events  which 
finally  led  him  hither.  Middleton  often,  as  he  talked 
with  these  old  men,  regretted  that  he  himself  had  no 
turn  for  authorship,  so  rich  a  volume  might  he  have 
compiled  from  the  experience,  sometimes  sunny  and 

361 


APPENDIX 

triumphant,  though  always  ending  in  shadow,  which 
he  gathered  here.  They  were  glad  to  talk  to  him,  and 
would  have  been  glad  and  grateful  for  any  auditor,  as 
they  sat  on  one  or  another  of  the  stone  benches,  in  the 
sunshine  of  the  garden  ;  or  at  evening,  around  the  great 
fireside,  or  within  the  chimney  corner,  with  their  pipes 
and  ale. 

There  was  one  old  man  who  attracted  much  of  his 
attention,  by  the  venerableness  of  his  aspect ;  by  some 
thing  dignified,  almost  haughty  and  commanding,  in 
his  air.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  intentions  and 
expectations  of  the  founder,  it  certainly  had  happened 
in  these  latter  days  that  there  was  a  difficulty  in  find 
ing  persons  of  education,  of  good  manners,  of  evident 
respectability,  to  put  into  the  places  made  vacant  by 
deaths  of  members ;  whether  that  the  paths  of  life  are 
surer  now  than  they  used  to  be,  and  that  men  so  ar 
range  their  lives  as  not  to  be  left,  in  any  event,  quite 
without  resources  as  they  draw  near  its  close;  at  any 
rate,  there  was  a  little  tincture  of  the  vagabond  run 
ning  through  these  twelve  quasi  gentlemen,  —  through 
several  of  them,  at  least.  But  this  old  man  could  not 
well  be  mistaken  ;  in  his  manners,  in  his  tones,  in  all 
his  natural  language  and  deportment,  there  was  evi 
dence  that  he  had  been  more  than  respectable  ;  and, 
viewing  him,  Middleton  could  not  help  wondering  what 
statesman  had  suddenly  vanished  out  of  public  life  and 
taken  refuge  here,  for  his  head  was  of  the  statesman 
class,  and  his  demeanor  that  of  one  who  had  exercised 
influence  over  large  numbers  of  men.  He  sometimes 
endeavored  to  set  on  foot  a  familiar  relation  with  this 
old  man,  but  there  was  even  a  sternness  in  the  manner 

362 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

in  which  he  repelled  these  advances,  that  gave  littje 
encouragement  for  their  renewal.  Nor  did  it  seem 
that  his  companions  of  the  Hospital  were  more  in  his 
confidence  than  Middleton  himself.  They  regarded 
him  with  a  kind  of  awe,  a  shyness,  and  in  most  cases 
with  a  certain  dislike,  which  denoted  an  imperfect  un 
derstanding  of  him.  To  say  the  truth,  there  was  not 
generally  much  love  lost  between  any  of  the  members 
of  this  family  ;  they  had  met  with  too  much  disap 
pointment  in  the  world  to  take  kindly,  now,  to  one 
another  or  to  anything  or  anybody.  I  rather  suspect 
that  they  really  had  more  pleasure  in  burying  one  an 
other,  when  the  time  came,  than  in  any  other  office  of 
mutual  kindness  and  brotherly  love  which  it  was  their 
part  to  do  ;  not  out  of  hardness  of  heart,  but  merely 
from  soured  temper,  and  because,  when  people  have 
met  disappointment  and  have  settled  down  into  final 
unhappiness,  with  no  more  gush  and  spring  of  good 
spirits,  there  is  nothing  any  more  to  create  amiability 
out  of. 

So  the  old  people  were  unamiable  and  cross  to  one 
another,  and  unamiable  and  cross  to  old  Hammond, 
yet  always  with  a  certain  respect ;  and  the  result  seemed 
to  be  such  as  treated  the  old  man  well  enough.  And 
thus  he  moved  about  among  them,  a  mystery ;  the  his 
tories  of  the  others,  in  the  general  outline,  were  well 
enough  known,  and  perhaps  not  very  uncommon  ; 
this  old  man's  history  was  known  to  none,  except,  of 
course,  to  the  trustees  of  the  charity,  and  to  the  Mas 
ter  of  the  Hospital,  to  whom  it  had  necessarily  been 
revealed,  before  the  beneficiary  could  be  admitted  as 
an  inmate.  It  was  judged,  by  the  deportment  of  the 

'363' 


APPENDIX 

Master,  that  the  old  man  had  once  held  some  emi 
nent  position  in  society ;  for,  tho  igh  bound  to  treat 
them  all  as  gentlemen,  he  was  thought  to  show  an 
especial  and  solemn  courtesy  to  Hammond. 

Yet  by  the  attraction  which  two  strong  and  culti 
vated  minds  inevitably  have  for  one  another,  there  did 
spring  up  an  acquaintanceship,  an  intercourse,  be 
tween  Middleton  and  this  old  man,  which  was  fol 
lowed  up  in  many  a  conversation  which  they  held  to 
gether  on  all  subjects  that  were  supplied  by  the  news 
of  the  day,  or  the  history  of  the  past.  Middleton 
used  to  make  the  newspaper  the  opening  for  much  dis 
cussion;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  talk  of  his 
companion  had  much  of  the  character  of  that  of  a  re 
tired  statesman,  on  matters  which,  perhaps,  he  would 
look  at  all  the  more  wisely,  because  it  was  impossible 
he  could  ever  more  have  a  personal  agency  in  them. 
Their  discussions  sometimes  turned  upon  the  affairs  of 
his  own  country,  and  its  relations  with  the  rest  of  the 
world,  especially  with  England;  and  Middleton  could 
not  help  being  struck  with  the  accuracy  of  the  old 
man's  knowledge  respecting  that  country,  which  so 
few  Englishmen  know  anything  about ;  his  shrewd 
appreciation  of  the  American  character,  —  shrewd  and 
caustic,  yet  not  without  a  good  degree  of  justice;  the 
sagacity  of  his  remarks  on  the  past,  and  prophecies  of 
what  was  likely  to  happen,  —  prophecies  which,  in  one 
instance,  were  singularly  verified,  in  regard  to  a  com 
plexity  which  was  then  arresting  the  attention  of  both 
countries. 

"  You  must  have  been  in  the  United  States,"  said 
he,  one  day. 

364 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

"  Certainly ;    my   remarks    imply  personal    know 
ledge,"  was  the  reply.     u  But  it  was  before  the   day^: 
of  steam." 

"  And  not,  I  should  imagine,  for  a  brief  visit,*'  said 
Middleton.  "  I  only  wish  the  administration  of  this 
government  had  the  benefit  to-day  of  your  knowledge 
of  my  countrymen.  It  might  be  better  for  both  of 
these  kindred  nations." 

"Not  a  whit,"  said  the  old  man.  "England  will 
never  understand  America ;  for  England  never  does 
understand  a  foreign  country  ;  and  whatever  you  may 
say  about  kindred,  America  is  as  much  a  foreign  coun 
try  as  France  itself.  These  two  hundred  years  of  a 
different  climate  and  circumstances  —  of  life  on  a 
broad  continent  instead*  of  in  an  island,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  endless  intermixture  of  nationalities  in  every 
part  of  the  United  States,  except  New  England  — • 
have  created  a  new  and  decidedly  original  type  of 
national  character.  It  is  as  well  for  both  parties  that 
they  should  not  aim  at  any  very  intimate  connection. 
It  will  never  do." 

u  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  so,"  said  Middleton ; 
u  they  are  at  all  events  two  noble  breeds  of  men,  and 
ought  to  appreciate  one  another.  And  America  has 
the  breadth  of  idea  to  do  this  for  England,  whether 
reciprocated  or  not." 

Thursday,  May  6th.  —  Thus  Middleton  was  estab 
lished  in  a  singular  way  among  these  old  men,  in  one 
of  the  surroundings  most  unlike  anything  in  his  own 
country.  So  old  it  was  that  it  seemed  to  him  the 
freshest  and  newest  thing  that  he  had  ever  met  with. 
The  residence  was  made  infinitely  the  more  interest- 

365 


APPENDIX 

ing  to  him  by  the  sense  that  he  was  near  the  place- 
as  all  the  indications  warned  him  —  which  he  sought, 
whither  his  dreams  had  tended  from  his  childhood; 
that  he  could  wander  each  day  round  the  park  within 
which  were  the  old  gables  of  what  he  believed  was  his 
hereditary  home.  He  had  never  known  anything  like 
the  dreamy  enjoyment  of  these  days;  so  quiet,  such  a 
contrast  to  the  turbulent  life  from  which  he  had  es 
caped  across  the  sea.  And  here  he  set  himself,  still 
with  that  sense  of  shadowiness  in  what  he  saw  and 
in  what  he  did,  in  making  all  the  researches  possible 
to  him,  about  the  neighborhood;  visiting  every  little 
church  that  raised  its  square  battlemented  Norman 
tower  of  gray  stone,  for  several  miles  round  about ; 
making  himself  acquainted  with  each  little  village  and 
hamlet  that  surrounded  these  churches,  clustering  about 
the  graves  of  those  who  had  dwelt  in  the  same  cot 
tages  aforetime.  He  visited  all  the  towns  within  a 
dozen  miles  ;  and  probably  there  were  few  of  the  in 
habitants  who  had  so  good  an  acquaintance  with  the 
neighborhood  as  this  native  American  attained  within 
a  few  weeks  after  his  coming  thither. 

In  course  of  these  excursions  he  had  several  times 
met  with  a  young  woman,  —  a  young  lady,  one  might 
term  her,  but  in  fact  he  was  in  some  doubt  what  rank 
she  might  hold,  in  England,  —  who  happened  to  be 
wandering  about  the  country  with  a  singular  freedom. 
She  was  always  alone,  always  on  foot ;  he  would  see 
her  sketching  some  picturesque  old  church,  some  ivied 
ruin,  some  fine  drooping  elm.  She  was  a  slight  figure, 
much  more  so  than  Englishwomen  generally  are ;  and, 
though  healthy  of  aspect,  had  not  the  ruddy  complex- 

366 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

ion,  which  he  was  irreverently  inclined  to  call  the 
coarse  tint,  that  is  believed  the  great  charm  of  English 
beauty.  There  was  a  freedom  in  her  step  and  whole 
little  womanhood,  an  elasticity,  an  irregularity,  so  to 
speak,  that  made  her  memorable  from  first  sight ;  and 
when  he  had  encountered  her  three  or  four  times,  he 
felt  in  a  certain  way  acquainted  with  her.  She  was 
very  simply  dressed,  and  quite  as  simple  in  her  deport 
ment  ;  there  had  been  one  or  two  occasions,  when  they 
had  both  smiled  at  the  same  thing ;  soon  afterwards  a 
little  conversation  had  taken  place  between  them  ;  and 
thus,  without  any  introduction,  and  in  a  way  that  some 
what  puzzled  Middleton  himself,  they  had  become  ac 
quainted.  It  was  so  unusual  that  a  young  English  girl 
should  be  wandering  about  the  country  entirely  alone 
—  so  much  less  usual  that  she  should  speak  to  a  stran 
ger —  that  Middleton  scarcely  knew  how  to  account 
for  it,  but  meanwhile  accepted  the  fact  readily  and  will 
ingly,  for  in  truth  he  found  this  mysterious  personage 
a  very  likely  and  entertaining  companion.  There  was 
a  strange  quality  of  boldness  in  her  remarks,  almost  of 
brusqueness,  that  he  might  have  expected  to  find  in  a 
young  countrywoman  of  his  own,  if  bred  up  among 
tne  strong-minded,  but  was  astonished  to  find  in  a 
young  Englishwoman.  Somehow  or  other  she  made 
him  think  more  of  home  than  any  other  person  or 
thing  he  met  with ;  and  he  could  not  but  feel  that  she 
was  in  strange  contrast  with  even-thing  about  her.  She 
was  no  beauty  ;  very  piquant ;  very  pleasing  ;  in  some 
points  of  view  and  at  some  moments  pretty  ;  always 
good-humored,  but  somewhat  too  self-possessed  for 
Middleton's  taste.  It  struck  him  that  she  had  talked 

367 


APPENDIX 

with  him  as  if  she  had  some  knowledge  of  him  and  of 
the  purposes  with  which  he  was  there ;  not  that  this 
was  expressed,  but  only  implied  by  the  fact  that,  on 
looking  back  to  what  had  passed,  he  found  many 
strange  coincidences  in  what  she  had  said  with  what 
he  was  thinking  about. 

He  perplexed  himself  much  with  thinking  whence 
this  young  woman  had  come,  where  she  belonged,  and 
what  might  be  her  history  ;  when,  the  next  day,  he 
again  saw  her,  not  this  time  rambling  on  foot,  but  seated 
in  an  open  barouche  with  a  young  lady.  Middleton 
lifted  his  hat  to  her,  and  she  nodded  and  smiled  to  him  ; 
and  it  appeared  to  Middleton  that  a  conversation  ensued 
about  him  with  the  young  lady,  her  companion.  Now, 
what  still  more  interested  him  was  the  fact  that,  on  the 
panel  of  the  barouche  were  the  arms  of  the  family  now 
in  possession  of  the  estate  of  Smithell's  ;  so  that  the 
young  lady,  his  new  acquaintance,  or  the  young  lady, 
her  seeming  friend,  one  or  the  other,  was  the  sister  of 
the  present  owner  of  that  estate.  He  was  inclined  to 
think  that  his  acquaintance  could  not  be  the  Miss 
Eldredge,  of  whose  beauty  he  had  heard  many  tales 
among  the  people  of  the  neighborhood.  The  other 
young  lady,  a  tall,  reserved,  fair-haired  maiden,  an 
swered  the  description  considerably  better.  He  con 
cluded,  therefore,  that  his  acquaintance  must  be  a 
visitor,  perhaps  a  dependent  and  companion;  though 
the  freedom  of  her  thought,  action,  and  way  of  life 
seemed  hardly  consistent  with  this  idea.  However,  this 
slight  incident  served  to  give  him  a  sort  of  connection 
with  the  family,  and  he  could  but  hope  that  some  fur 
ther  chance  would  introduce  him  within  what  he  fondly 
368 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

called  his  hereditary  walls.  He  had  come  to  think  of 
this  as  a  dreamland  ;  and  it  seemed  even  more  a  dream 
land  now  than  before  it  rendered  itself  into  actual  sub 
stance,  an  old  house  of  stone  and  timber  standing 
within  its  park,  shaded  about  with  its  ancestral  trees. 

But  thus,  at  all  events,  he  was  getting  himself  a 
little  wrought  into  the  network  of  human  life  around 
him,  secluded  as  his  position  had  at  first  seemed  to  be, 
in  the  farmhouse  where  he  had  taken  up  his  lodgings. 
For,  there  was  the  Hospital  and  its  old  inhabitants,  in 
whose  monotonous  existence  he  soon  came  to  pass  for 
something,  with  his  liveliness  of  mind,  his  experience, 
his  good  sense,  his  patience  as  a  listener,  his  compara 
tive  youth  even  —  his  power  of  adapting  himself  to 
these  stiff  and  crusty  characters,  a  power  learned  among 
other  things  in  his  political  life,  where  he  had  acquired 
something  of  the  faculty  (good  or  bad  as  might  be)  of 
making  himself  all  things  to  all  men.  But  though  he 
amused  himself  with  them  all,  there  was  in  truth  but 
one  man  among  them  in  whom  he  really  felt  much 
interest;  and  that  one,  we  need  hardly  say,  was  Ham 
mond.  It  was  not  often  that  he  found  the  old  gentle 
man  in  a  conversable  mood  ;  always  courteous,  indeed, 
but  generally  cool  and  reserved  ;  often  engaged  in  his 
one  room,  to  which  Middleton  had  never  yet  been 
admitted,  though  he  had  more  than  once  sent  in  his 
name,  when  Hammond  was  not  apparent  upon  the 
bench  which,  by  common  consent  of  the  Hospital, 
was  appropriated  to  him. 

One  day,  however,  notwithstanding  that  the  old  gen 
tleman  was  confined  to  his  room  by  indisposition,  he 
ventured  to  inquire  at  the  door,  and,  considerably  to 
369 


APPENDIX 

his  surprise,  was  admitted.  He  found  Hammond  in 
his  easy-chair,  at  a  table,  with  writing  materials  before 
him  :  and  as  Middleton  entered,  the  old  gentleman 
looked  at  him  with  a  stern,  fixed  regard,  which,  how 
ever,  did  not  seem  to  imply  any  particular  displeasure 
towards  this  visitor,  but  rather  a  severe  way  of  regard 
ing  mankind  in  general.  Middleton  looked  curiously 
around  the  small  apartment,  to  see  what  modification 
the  character  of  the  man  had  had  upon  the  customary 
furniture  of  the  Hospital,  and  how  much  of  individu 
ality  he  had  given  to  that  general  type.  There  was  a 
shelf  of  books,  and  a  row  of  them  on  the  mantelpiece; 
works  of  political  economy,  they  appeared  to  be,  statis 
tics  and  things  of  that  sort ;  very  dry  reading,  with 
which,  however,  Middleton's  experience  as  a  politician 
had  made  him  acquainted.  Besides  these  there  were  a 
few  works  on  local  antiquities,  a  county  history  bor 
rowed  from  the  Master's  library,  in  which  Hammond 
appeared  to  have  been  lately  reading. 

"  They  are  delightful  reading,"  observed  Middleton, 
"  these  old  county  histories,  with  their  great  folio  vol 
umes  and  their  minute  account  of  the  affairs  of  fami 
lies  and  the  genealogies,  and  descents  of  estates,  be 
stowing  as  much  blessed  space  on  a  few  hundred  acres 
as  other  historians  give  to  a  principality.  I  fear  that 
in  my  own  country  we  shall  never  have  anything  of 
this  kind.  Our  space  is  so  vast  that  we  shall  never 
come  to  know  and  love  it,  inch  by  inch,  as  the  Eng 
lish  antiquarians  do  the  tracts  of  country  with  which 
they  deal ;  and  besides,  our  land  is  always  likely  to 
lack  the  interest  that  belongs  to  English  estates ;  for 
where  land  changes  its  ownership  every  few  years,  it 

370 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

dors  not  become  imbued  with  the  personalities  of  the 
people  who  live  on  it.  It  is  but  so  much  grass  ;  so 
much  dirt,  where  a  succession  of  people  have  dwelt  too 
little  to  make  it  really  their  own.  But  I  have  found 
a  pleasure  that  I  had  no  conception  of  before,  in  read 
ing  some  of  the  English  local  histories." 

"  It  is  not  a  usual  course  of  reading  for  a  transi 
tory  visitor,"  said  Hammond.  "What  could  induce 
you  to  undertake  it  ?  " 

"Simply  the  wish  so  common  and  natural  with 
Americans,"  said  Middleton,  —  "  the  wish  to  find  out 
something  about  my  kindred,  —  the  local  origin  of  my 
own  family." 

"  You  do  not  show  your  wisdom  in  this,"  said  his 
visitor.  "  America  had  better  recognize  the  fact  that 
it  has  nothing  to  do  with  England,  and  look  upon  it 
self  as  other  nations  and  people  do,  as  existing  on  its 
own  hook.  I  never  heard  of  any  people  looking  back 
to  the  country  of  their  remote  origin  in  the  way  the 
Anglo-Americans  do.  For  instance,  England  is  made 
up  of  many  alien  races,  German,  Danish,  Norman, 
and  what  not :  it  has  received  large  accessions  of  pop 
ulation  at  a  later  date  than  the  settlement  of  the 
United  States.  Yet  these  families  melt  into  the  great 
homogeneous  mass  of  Englishmen,  and  look  back  no 
more  to  any  other  country.  There  are  in  this  vicin 
ity  many  descendants  of  the  French  Huguenots;  but 
they  care  no  more  for  France  than  for  Timbuctoo, 
reckoning  themselves  only  Englishmen,  as  if  they 
were  descendants  of  the  aboriginal  Britons.  Let  it  be 
so  with  you." 

u  So  it  might  be,"  replied  Middleton,  "  only  that 
371 


APPENDIX 

our  relations  with  England  remain  far  more  numerous 
than  our  disconnections,  through  the  bonds  of  history, 
of  literature,  of  all  that  makes  up  the  memories,  and 
much  that  makes  up  the  present  interests  of  a  people. 
And  therefore  I  must  still  continue  to  pore  over  these 
old  folios,  and  hunt  around  these  precincts,  spending 
thus  the  little  idle  time  I  am  likely  to  have  in  a  busy 
life.  Possibly  finding  little  to  my  purpose  ;  but  that 
is  quite  a  secondary  consideration." 

"  If  you  choose  to  tell  me  precisely  what  your  aims 
are,"  said  Hammond,  "it  is  possible  I  might  give  you 
some  little  assistance." 

May  Jth,  Friday.  —  Middleton  was  in  fact  more 
than  half  ashamed  of  the  dreams  which  he  had  cher 
ished  before  coming  to  England,  and  which  since,  at 
times,  had  been  very  potent  with  him,  assuming  as 
strong  a  tinge  of  reality  as  those  [scenes  ?]  into  which 
he  had  strayed.  He  could  not  prevail  with  himself  to 
disclose  fully  to  this  severe,  and,  as  he  thought,  cyn 
ical  old  man  how  strong  within  him  was  the  senti 
ment  that  impelled  him  to  connect  himself  with  the 
old  life  of  England,  to  join  on  the  broken  thread  of 
ancestry  and  descent,  and  feel  every  link  well  estab 
lished.  But  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  ought  not  to 
lose  this  fair  opportunity  of  gaining  some  light  on  the 
abstruse  field  of  his  researches ;  and  he  therefore  ex 
plained  to  Hammond  that  he  had  reason,  from  old 
family  traditions,  to  believe  that  he  brought  with  him 
a  fragment  of  a  history  that,  if  followed  out,  might 
lead  to  curious  results.  He  told  him,  in  a  tone  half 
serious,  what  he  had  heard  respecting  the  quarrel  of 
the  two  brothers,  and  the  Bloody  Footstep,  the  im- 
372 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

press  of  which  was  said  to  remain,  as  a  lasting  memo 
rial  of  the  tragic  termination  of  that  enmity.  At  this 
point,  Hammond  interrupted  him.  He  had  indeed,  at 
various  points  of  the  narrative,  nodded  and  smiled 
mvsteriously,  as  if  looking  into  his  mind  and  seeing 
something  there  analogous  to  what  he  was  listening 
to.  He  now  spoke. 

"This  is  curious,"  said  he.  "Did  you  know  that 
there  is  a  manor  house  in  this  neighborhood,  the  fam 
ily  of  which  prides  itself  on  having  such  a  blood 
stained  threshold  as  you  have  now  described  ? " 

"No,  indeed!  "  exclaimed  Middleton,  greatly  inter 
ested.  "Where?" 

"  It  is  the  old  manor  house  of  Smithell's,"  replied 
Hammond,  "one  of  those  old  wood  and  timber  [plas 
ter?]  mansions,  which  are  among  the  most  ancient 
specimens  of  domestic  architecture  in  England.  The 
house  has  now  passed  into  the  female  line,  and  by 
marriage  has  been  for  two  or  three  generations  in  pos 
session  of  another  family.  But  the  blood  of  the  old 
inheritors  is  still  in  the  family.  The  house  itself,  or 
portions  of  it,  are  thought  to  date  back  quite  as  far  as 
the  Conquest." 

"Smithell's?"  said  Middleton.  "Why,  I  have 
seen  that  old  house  from  a  distance,  and  have  felt  no 
little  interest  in  its  antique  aspect.  And  it  has  a  Bloody 
Footstep !  Would  it  be  possible  for  a  stranger  to  get 
an  opportunity  to  inspect  it  ?  " 

"Unquestionably,"  said  Hammond,—-  "nothing 
easier.  It  is  but  a  moderate  distance  from  here,  and 
if  you  can  moderate  your  young  footsteps,  and  your 
American  quick  walk,  to  an  old  man's  pace,  I  would 

373 


APPENDIX 

go  there  with  you  some  day.  In  this  languor  and 
ennui  of  my  life,  I  spend  some  time  in  local  antiqua- 
rianism,  and  perhaps  I  might  assist  you  in  tracing  out 
how  far  these  traditions  of  yours  may  have  any  con 
nection  with  reality.  It  would  be  curious,  would  it 
not,  if  you  had  come,  after  two  hundred  years,  to  piece 
out  a  story  which  may  have  been  as  much  a  mystery 
in  England  as  there  in  America  ?  " 

An  engagement  was  made  for  a  walk  to  Smithell's 
the  ensuing  day  ;  and  meanwhile  Middleton  entered 
more  fully  into  what  he  had  received  from  family  tra 
ditions  and  what  he  had  thought  out  for  himself  on  the 
matter  in  question. 

u  Are  you  aware,"  asked  Hammond,  u  that  there 
was  formerly  a  title  in  this  family,  now  in  abeyance, 
and  which  the  heirs  have  at  various  times  claimed,  and 
are  at  this  moment  claiming  ?  Do  you  know,  too, — 
but  you  can  scarcely  know  it, — that  it  has  been  sur 
mised  by  some  that  there  is  an  insecurity  in  the  title 
to  the  estate,  and  has  always  been  ;  so  that  the  pos 
sessors  have  lived  in  some  apprehension,  from  time 
immemorial,  that  another  heir  would  appear  and  take 
from  them  the  fair  inheritance  ?  It  is  a  singular  co 
incidence." 

"  Very  strange  !"  exclaimed  Middletcn.  "No;  I 
was  not  aware  of  it;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  I  should 
not  altogether  like  to  come  forward  in  the  light  of  a 
claimant.  But  this  is  a  dream,  surely  !  " 

"I  assure  you,  sir,"  continued  the  old  man,  "that  you 
come  here  in  a  very  critical  moment;  and  singularly 
enough  there  is  a  perplexity,  a  difficulty,  that  has  en 
dured  for  as  long  a  time  as  when  your  ancestors  emi- 
374 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

grated,  that  is  still  rampant  within  the  bowels,  as  I 
may  say,  of  the  family.  Of  course,  it  is  too  like  a 
romance  that  you  should  be  able  to  establish  any  such 
claim  as  would  have  a  valid  influence  on  this  matter; 
but  still,  being  here  on  the  spot,  it  may  be  worth 
while,  if  merely  as  a  matter  of  amusement,  to  make 
some  researches  into  this  matter." 

"Surely  I  will,"  said  Middleton,  with  a  smile,  which 
concealed  more  earnestness  than  he  liked  to  show ; 
"  as  to  the  title,  a  Republican  cannot  be  supposed  to 
think  twice  about  such  a  bagatelle.  The  estate  !  — 
that  might  be  a  more  serious  consideration." 

They  continued  to  talk  on  the  subject  ;  and  Mid 
dleton  learned  that  the  present  possessor  of  the  estates 
was  a  gentleman  nowise  distinguished  from  hundreds 
of  other  English  gentlemen ;  a  country  squire  modi 
fied  in  accordance  with  the  type  of  to-day,  a  frank, 
free,  friendly  sort  of  a  person  enough,  who  had  trav 
elled  on  the  Continent,  who  employed  himself  much 
in  field  sports,  who  was  unmarried,  and  had  a  sister 
who  was  reckoned  among  the  beauties  of  the  county. 

While  the  conversation  was  thus  going  on,  to  Mid- 
dleton's  astonishment  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door 
of  the  room,  and,  without  waiting  for  a  response,  it 
was  opened,  and  there  appeared  at  it  the  same  young 
Jvoman  whom  he  had  already  met.  She  came  in  with 
perfect  freedom  and  familiarity,  and  was  received 
quietly  by  the  old  gentleman  ;  who,  however,  by  his 
manner  towards  Middleton,  indicated  that  he  was  now 
to  take  his  leave.  He  did  so,  after  settling  the  hour 
at  which  the  excursion  of  the  next  day  was  to  take 
place.  This  arranged,  he  departed,  with  much  to 
375 


APPENDIX 

think  of,  and  a  light  glimmering  through  the  confused 
labyrinth  of  thoughts  which  had  been  unilluminated 
hitherto. 

To  say  the  truth,  he  questioned  within  himself 
whether  it  were  not  better  to  get  as  quickly  as  he 
could  out  of  the  vicinity ;  and,  at  any  rate,  not  to  put 
anything  of  earnest  in  what  had  hitherto  been  nothing 
more  than  a  romance  to  him.  There  was  something 
very  dark  and  sinister  in  the  events  of  family  history, 
which  now  assumed  a  reality  that  they  had  never  be 
fore  worn ;  so  much  tragedy,  so  much  hatred,  had  been 
thrown  into  that  deep  pit,  and  buried  under  the  accu 
mulated  debris,  the  fallen  leaves,  the  rust  and  dust  of 
more  than  two  centuries,  that  it  seemed  not  worth  while 
to  dig  it  up;  for  perhaps  the  deadly  influences,  which 
it  had  taken  so  much  time  to  hide,  might  still  be  lurk 
ing  there,  and  become  potent  if  he  now  uncovered 
them.  There  was  something  that  startled  him,  in  the 
strange,  wild  light,  which  gleamed  from  the  old  man's 
eyes,  as  he  threw  out  the  suggestions  which  had  opened 
this  prospect  to  him.  What  right  had  he  —  an  Amer 
ican,  Republican,  disconnected  with  this  country  so 
long,  alien  from  its  habits  of  thought  and  life,  reveren 
cing  none  of  the  things  which  Englishmen  reverenced 
—  what  right  had  he  to  come  with  these  musty  claims 
from  the  dim  past,  to  disturb  them  in  the  life  that  be 
longed  to  them  ?  There  was  a  higher  and  a  deeper 
law  than  any  connected  with  ancestral  claims  which 
he  could  assert  •,  and  he  had  an  idea  that  the  law  bade 
him  keep  to  the  country  which  his  ancestor  had  chosen 
and  to  its  institutions,  and  not  meddle  nor  make  with 
England.  The  roots  of  his  family  tree  could  not 

376 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

reach  under  the  ocean  ;  he  was  at  most  but  a  seedling 
from  the  parent  tree.  While  thus  meditating  he  found 
that  his  footsteps  had  brought  him  unawares  within 
sight  of  the  old  manor  house  of  SmithelPs ;  and  that 
he  was  wandering  in  a  path  which,  if  he  followed  it 
further,  would  bring  him  to  an  entrance  in  one  of  the 
wings  of  the  mansion.  With  a  sort  of  shame  upon 
him,  he  went  forward,  and,  leaning  against  a  tree, 
looked  at  what  he  considered  the  home  of  his  ances 
tors. 

May  yth,  Sunday.  —  At  the  time  appointed,  the  two 
companions  set  out  on  their  little  expedition,  the  old 
man  in  his  Hospital  uniform,  the  long  black  mantle, 
with  the  bear  and  ragged  staff  engraved  in  silver  on 
the  breast,  and  Middleton  in  the  plain  costume  which 
he  had  adopted  in  these  wanderings  about  the  coun 
try.  On  their  way,  Hammond  was  not  very  com 
municative,  occasionally  dropping  some  shrewd  re 
mark  with  a  good  deal  of  acidity  in  it ;  now  and  then, 
too,  favoring  his  companion  with  some  reminiscence 
of  local  antiquity  ;  but  oftenest  silent.  Thus  they 
went  on,  and  entered  the  park  of  Pemberton  Manor 
by  a  bypath,  over  a  stile  and  one  of  those  footways, 
which  are  always  so  well  woith  threading  out  in  Eng 
land,  leading  the  pedestrian  into  picturesque  and  char 
acteristic  scenes,  when  the  highroad  would  show  him 
nothing  except  what  was  commonplace  and  uninter 
esting.  Now  the  gables  of  the  old  manor  house  ap 
peared  before  them,  rising  amidst  the  hereditary  woods, 
which  doubtless  dated  from  a  time  beyond  the  days 
which  Middleton  fondly  recalled,  when  his  ancestors 
had  walked  beneath  their  shade.  On  each  side  of 
377 


APPENDIX 

them  were  thickets  and  copses  of  fern,  amidst  which 
they  saw  the  hares  peeping  out  to  gaze  upon  them, 
occasionally  running  across  the  path,  and  comporting 
themselves  like  creatures  that  felt  themselves  under 
some  sort  of  protection  from  the  outrages  of  man, 
though  they  knew  too  much  of  his  destructive  char 
acter  to  trust  him  too  far.  Pheasants,  too,  rose  close 
beside  them,  and  winged  but  a  little  way  before  they 
alighted;  they  likewise  knew,  or  seemed  to  know, 
that  their  hour  was  not  yet  come.  On  all  sides  in 
these  woods,  these  wastes,  these  beasts  and  birds,  there 
was  a  character  that  was  neither  wild  nor  tame.  Man 
had  laid  his  grasp  on  them  all,  and  done  enough  to  re 
deem  them  from  barbarism,  but  had  stopped  short  of 
domesticating  them  ;  although  Nature,  in  the  wildest 
thing  there,  acknowledged  the  powerful  and  pervading 
influence  of  cultivation. 

Arriving  at  a  side  door  of  the  mansion,  Hammond 
rang  the  bell,  and  a  servant  soon  appeared.  He  seemed 
to  know  the  old  man,  and  immediately  acceded  to  his 
request  to  be  permitted  to  show  his  companion  the 
house;  although  it  was  not  precisely  a  show-house, 
nor  was  this  the  hour  when  strangers  were  usually 
admitted.  They  entered ;  and  the  servant  did  not 
give  himself  the  trouble  to  act  as  a  cicerone  to  the 
two  visitants,  but  carelessly  said  to  the  old  gentleman 
that  he  knew  the  rooms,  and  that  he  would  leave  him 
to  discourse  to  his  friend  about  them.  Accordingly, 
they  went  into  the  old  hall,  a  dark  oaken-panelled 
room,  of  no  great  height,  with  many  doors  opening 
into  it.  There  was  a  fire  burning  on  the  hearth  ;  in 
deed,  it  was  the  custom  of  the  house  to  keep  it  up 

378 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

from  morning  to  night  ;  and  in  the  damp,  chill  cli 
mate  of  England,  there  is  seldom  a  day  in  some  part 
of  which  a  fire  is  not  pleasant  to  feel.  Hammond 
here  pointed  out  a  stuffed  fox,  to  which  some  story 
of  a  famous  chase  was  attached  ;  a  pair  of  antlers 
of  enormous  size  ;  and  some  old  family  pictures,  so 
blackened  with  time  and  neglect  that  Middleton  could 
not  well  distinguish  their  features,  though  curious  to 
do  so,  as  hoping  to  see  there  the  lineaments  ot  some 
with  whom  he  might  claim  kindred.  It  was  a  venera 
ble  apartment,  and  gave  a  good  foretaste  of  what  they 
might  hope  to  find  in  the  rest  of  the  mansion. 

But  when  they  had  inspected  it  pretty  thoroughly, 
and  were  ready  to  proceed,  an  elderly  gentleman  en 
tered  the  hall,  and,  seeing  Hammond,  addressed  him 
in  a  kindly,  familiar  way ;  not  indeed  as  an  equal 
friend,  but  with  a  pleasant  and  not  irksome  conversa 
tion.  "I  am  glad  to  see  you  here  again,"  said  he. 
u  What  ?  I  have  an  hour  of  leisure  ;  for,  to  say  the 
truth,  the  day  hangs  rather  heavy  till  the  shooting  sea 
son  begins.  Come;  as  you  have  a  friend  with  you,  I 
will  be  your  cicerone  myself  about  the  house,  and 
show  you  whatever  mouldy  objects  of  interest  it  con 
tains." 

He  then  graciously  noticed  the  old  man's  compan 
ion,  but  without  asking  or  seeming  to  expect  an  intro 
duction  ;  for,  after  a  careless  glance  at  him,  he  had 
evidently  set  him  down  as  a  person  without  social 
claims,  a  young  man  in  the  rank  of  life  fitted  to  asso 
ciate  with  an  inmate  of  Pemberton's  Hospital.  And 
it  must  be  noticed  that  his  treatment  of  Middleton 
was  not  on  that  account  the  less  kind,  though  far 
379 


APPENDIX 

from  being  so  elaborately  courteous  as  if  he  had  met 
him  as  an  equal.  "You  have  had  something  of  a 
walk,"  said  he,  "and  it  is  a  rather  hot  day.  The 
beer  of  Pemberton  Manor  has  been  reckoned  good 
these  hundred  years;  will  you  taste  it?" 

Hammond  accepted  the  offer,  and  the  beer  was 
brought  in  a  foaming  tankard;  but  Middleton  declined 
it,  for  in  truth  there  was  a  singular  emotion  in  his 
breast,  as  if  the  old  enmity,  the  ancient  injuries,  were 
not  yet  atoned  for,  and  as  if  he  must  not  accept  the 
hospitality  of  one  who  represented  his  hereditary  foe. 
He  felt,  too,  as  if  there  were  something  unworthy,  a 
certain  want  of  fairness,  in  entering  clandestinely  the 
house,  and  talking  with  its  occupant  under  a  veil,  as 
it  were;  and  had  he  seen  clearly  how  to  do  it,  he 
would  perhaps  at  that  moment  have  fairly  told  Mr. 
Eldredge  that  he  brought  with  him  the  character  of 
kinsman,  and  must  be  received  on  that  grade  or  none. 
But  it  was  not  easy  to  do  this ;  and  after  all,  there 
was  no  clear  reason  why  he  should  do  it ;  so  he  let 
the  matter  pass,  merely  declining  to  take  the  refresh 
ment,  and  keeping  himself  quiet  and  retired. 

Squire  Eldredge  seemed  to  be  a  good,  ordinary  sort 
of  gentleman,  reasonably  well  educated,  and  with  few 
ideas  beyond  his  estate  and  neighborhood,  though  he 
had  once  held  a  seat  in  Parliament  for  part  of  a  term. 
Middleton  could  not  but  contrast  him,  with  an  inward 
smile,  with  the  shrewd,  alert  politicians,  their  faculties 
all  sharpened  to  the  utmost,  whom  he  had  known  and 
consorted  with  in  the  American  Congress.  Hammond 
had  slightly  informed  him  that  his  companion  was  an 
American ;  and  Mr.  Eldredge  immediately  gave  proof 
380 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

of  the  extent  of  his  knowledge  of  that  country,  by  in 
quiring  whether  he  came  from  the  State  of  New  Eng 
land,  and  whether  Mr.  Webster  was  still  President 
of  the  United  States ;  questions  to  which  Middleton 
returned  answers  that  led  to  no  further  conversation. 
These  little  preliminaries  over,  they  continued  their 
/amble  through  the  house,  going  through  tortuous  pas 
sages,  up  and  down  little  flights  of  steps,  and  entering 
chambers  that  had  all  the  charm  of  discoveries  of 
hidden  regions;  loitering  about,  in  short,  in  a  labyrinth 
calculated  to  put  the  head  into  a  delightful  confusion. 
Some  of  these  rooms  contained  their  time-honored  fur 
niture,  all  in  the  best  possible  repair,  heavy,  dark,  pol 
ished  ;  beds  that  had  been  marriage  beds  and  dying 
beds  over  and  over  again  ;  chairs  with  carved  backs  ; 
and  all  manner  of  old  world  curiosities ;  family  pic 
tures,  and  samplers,  and  embroidery ;  fragments  of 
tapestry;  an  inlaid  floor;  everything  having  a  story  to 
it,  though,  to  say  the  truth,  the  possessor  of  these  curi 
osities  made  but  a  bungling  piece  of  work  in  telling 
the  legends  connected  with  them.  In  one  or  two  in 
stances  Hammond  corrected  him. 

By  and  by  they  came  to  what  had  once  been  the 
principal  bedroom  of  the  house ;  though  its  gloom, 
and  some  circumstances  of  family  misfortune  that  had 
happened  long  ago,  had  caused  it  to  fall  into  disrepute 
in  latter  times  ;  and  it  was  now  called  the  Haunted 
Chamber,  or  the  Ghost's  Chamber.  The  furniture  of 
this  room,  however,  was  particularly  rich  in  its  antique 
magnificence ;  and  one  of  the  principal  objects  was  a 
great  black  cabinet  of  ebony  and  ivory,  such  as  may 
often  be  seen  in  old  English  houses,  and  perhaps  often 

381 


APPENDIX 

in  the  palaces  of  Italy,  in  which  country  they  perhaps 
originated.  This  present  cabinet  was  known  to  have 
been  in  the  house  as  long  ago  as  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  how  much  longer  neither  tradition  nor 
record  told.  Hammond  particularly  directed  Middle- 
ton's  attention  to  it. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  this  house,"  said  he,  "  better 
worth  your  attention  than  that  cabinet.  Consider  its 
plan  ;  it  represents  a  stately  mansion,  with  pillars,  an 
entrance,  with  a  lofty  flight  of  steps,  windows,  and 
everything  perfect.  Examine  it  well." 

There  was  such  an  emphasis  in  the  old  man's  way 
of  speaking  that  Middleton  turned  suddenly  round  from 
all  that  he  had  been  looking  at,  and  fixed  his  whole 
attention  on  the  cabinet;  and  strangely  enough,  it 
seemed  to  be  the  representative,  in  small,  of  some 
thing  that  he  had  seen  in  a  dream.  To  say  the  truth, 
if  some  cunning  workman  had  been  employed  to  copy 
his  idea  of  the  old  family  mansion,  on  a  scale  of  half 
an  inch  to  a  yard,  and  in  ebony  and  ivory  instead  of 
stone,  he  could  not  have  produced  a  closer  imitation. 
Everything  was  there. 

"  This  is  miraculous  !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  I  do  not 
understand  it." 

"  Your  friend  seems  to  be  curious  in  these  matters," 
said  Mr.  Eldredge  graciously.  "  Perhaps  he  is  of  some 
trade  that  makes  this  sort  of  manufacture  particularly 
interesting  to  him.  You  are  quite  at  liberty,  my  friend, 
to  open  the  cabinet  and  inspect  it  as  minutely  as  you 
wish.  It  is  an  article  that  has  a  good  deal  to  do  with  an 
obscure  portion  of  our  family  history.  Look,  here  is 
the  key,  and  the  mode  of  opening  the  outer  door  of  the 

382 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

palace,  as  we  may  well  call  it."  So  saying,  he  threw 
open  the  outer  door,  and  disclosed  within  the  mimic 
likeness  of  a  stately  entrance  hall,  with  a  floor  cheq 
uered  of  ebony  and  ivory.  There  were  other  doors 
that  seemed  to  open  into  apartments  in  the  interior  of 
the  palace  ;  but  when  Mr.  Eldredge  threw  them  like 
wise  wide,  they  proved  to  be  drawers  and  secret  re 
ceptacles,  where  papers,  jewels,  money,  anything  that 
it  was  desirable  to  store  away  secretly,  might  be  kept. 

"You  said,  sir,"  said  Middleton  thoughtfully,  "that 
your  family  history  contained  matter  of  interest  in 
reference  to  this  cabinet.  Might  I  inquire  what  those 
legends  are  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Eldredge,  musing  a  little. 
"  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  have  any  idle  conceal 
ment  about  the  matter,  especially  to  a  foreigner  and 
a  man  whom  I  am  never  likely  to  see  again.  You 
must  know,  then,  my  friend,  that  there  was  once  a 
time  when  this  cabinet  was  known  to  contain  the  fate 
of  the  estate  and  its  possessors ;  and  if  it  had  held  all 
that  it  was  supposed  to  hold,  I  should  not  now  be 
the  lord  of  Pemberton  Manor,  nor  the  claimant  of  an 
ancient  title.  But  my  father,  and  his  father  before 
him,  and  his  father  besides,  have  held  the  estate  and 
prospered  on  it;  and  I  think  we  may  fairly  conclude 
now  that  the  cabinet  contains  nothing  except  what  we 
see." 

And  he  rapidly  again  threw  open  one  after  another 
all  the  numerous  drawers  and  receptacles  of  the  cabi 
net. 

"  It  is  an  interesting  object,"  said  Middleton,  after 
looking  very  closely  and  with  great  attention  at  it, 

383 


APPENDIX 

being  pressed  thereto,  indeed,  by  the  owner's  good- 
natured  satisfaction  in  possessing  this  rare  article  of 
vertu.  "  It  is  admirable  work,"  repeated  he,  drawing 
back.  "  That  mosaic  floor,  especially,  is  done  with 
an  art  and  skill  that  I  never  saw  equalled." 

There  was  something  strange  and  altered  in  Mid- 
dleton's  tones  that  attracted  the  notice  of  Mr.  El- 
dredge.  Looking  at  him,  he  saw  that  he  had  grown 
pale,  and  had  a  rather  bewildered  air. 

"  Is  your  friend  ill  ?  "  said  he.  "  He  has  not  our 
English  ruggedness  of  look.  He  would  have  done 
better  to  take  a  sip  of  the  cool  tankard,  and  a  slice  of 
the  cold  beef.  He  finds  no  such  food  and  drink  as 
that  in  his  own  country,  I  warrant." 

'^His  color  has  come  back,"  responded  Hammond 
briefly.  "  He  does  not  need  any  refreshment,  I  think, 
except,  perhaps,  the  open  air." 

In  fact,  Middleton,  recovering  himself,  apologized 
to  Mr.  Hammond  [Eldredge  ?] ;  and  as  they  had  now 
seen  nearly  the  whole  of  the  house,  the  two  visitants 
took  their  leave,  with  many  kindly  offers  on  Mr.  El- 
dredge's  part  to  permit  the  young  man  to  view  the 
cabinet  whenever  he  wished.  As  they  went  out  of 
the  house  (it  was  by  another  door  than  that  which 
gave  them  entrance),  Hammond  laid  his  hand  on  Mid- 
dleton's  shoulder  and  pointed  to  a  stone  on  the  thresh 
old,  on  which  he  was  about  to  set  his  foot.  "  Take 
care  !  "  said  he.  "  It  is  the  Bloody  Footstep." 

Middleton  looked  down  and  saw  something,  indeed, 
very  like  the  shape  of  a  footprint,  with  a  hue  very  like 
that  of  blood.  It  was  a  twilight  sort  of  a  place,  be 
neath  a  porch,  which  was  much  overshadowed  by  trees 

384 


tf  Is  your  friend  ill  ? 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

and  shrubbery.  It  might  have  been  blood  ;  but  he 
rather  thought,  in  his  wicked  scepticism,  that  it  was 
a  natural,  reddish  stain  in  the  stone.  He  measured 
his  own  foot,  however,  in  the  Bloody  Footstep,  and 
went  on. 

May  loth,  Monday.  —  This  is  the  present  aspect 
of  the  story  :  Middleton  is  the  descendant  of  a  family 
long  settled  in  the  United  States  ;  his  ancestor  having 
emigrated  to  New  England  with  the  Pilgrims;  or,  per 
haps,  at  a  still  earlier  date,  to  Virginia  with  Raleigh's 
colonists.  There  had  been  a  family  dissension,  —  a 
bitter  hostility  between  two  brothers  in  England ;  on 
account,  probably,  of  a  love  affair,  the  two  both  being 
attached  to  the  same  lady.  By  the  influence  of  the 
family  on  both  sides,  the  young  lady  had  formed  an 
engagement  with  the  elder  brother,  although  her  affec 
tions  had  settled  on  the  younger.  The  marriage  was 
about  to  take  place  when  the  younger  brother  and  the 
bride  both  disappeared,  and  were  never  heard  of  with 
any  certainty  afterwards  ;  but  it  was  believed  at  the 
time  that  he  had  been  killed,  and  in  proof  of  it  a  bloody 
footstep  remained  on  the  threshold  of  the  ancestral 
mansion.  There  were  rumors  afterwards,  tradition 
ally  continued  to  the  present  day,  that  the  younger 
brother  and  the  bride  were  seen,  and  together,  in  Eng 
land  ;  and  that  some  voyager  across  the  sea  had  found 
them  living  together,  husband  and  wife,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic.  But  the  elder  brother  became  a 
moody  and  reserved  man,  never  married,  and  left  the 
inheritance  to  the  children  of  a  third  brother,  who  then 
became  the  representative  of  the  family  in  England; 
and  the  better  authenticated  story  was  that  the  second 

385 


APPENDIX 

brother  had  really  been  slain,  and  that  the  young  lady 
(for  all  the  parties  may  have  been  Catholic)  had  gone 
to  the  Continent  and  taken  the  veil  there.  Such  was 
the  family  history  as  known  or  surmised  in  England, 
and  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  manor  house,  where 
the  Bloody  Footstep  still  remained  on  the  thresh 
old  ;  and  the  posterity  of  the  third  brother  still  held 
the  estate,  and  perhaps  were  claimants  of  an  ancient 
baronage,  long  in  abeyance. 

Now,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  the  second 
brother  and  the  young  lady  had  really  been  married, 
and  became  the  parents  of  a  posterity,  still  extant,  of 
which  the  Middleton  of  the  romance  is  the  surviving 
male.  Perhaps  he  had  changed  his  name,  being  so 
much  tortured  with  the  evil  and  wrong  that  had  sprung 
up  in  his  family,  so  remorseful,  so  outraged,  that  he 
wished  to  disconnect  himself  with  all  the  past,  and 
begin  life  quite  anew  in  a  new  world.  But  both  he 
and  his  wife,  though  happy  in  one  another,  had  been 
remorsefully  and  sadly  so  ;  and,  with  such  feelings, 
they  had  never  again  communicated  with  their  respec 
tive  families,  nor  had  given  their  children  the  means 
of  doing  so.  There  must,  I  think,  have  been  some 
thing  nearly  approaching  to  guilt  on  the  second  bro 
ther's  part,  and  the  bride  should  have  broken  a  sol 
emnly  plighted  troth  to  the  elder  brother,  breaking 
away  from  him  when  almost  his  wife.  The  elder 
brother  had  been  known  to  have  been  wounded  at  the 
time  of  the  second  brother's  disappearance;  and  it  had 
been  the  surmise  that  he  had  received  this  hurt  in  the 
personal  conflict  in  which  the  latter  was  slain.  But 
in  truth  the  second  brother  had  stabbed  him  in  the 
386 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

emergency  of  being  discovered  in  the  act  of  escaping 
with  the  bride  ;  and  this  was  what  weighed  upon  his 
conscience  throughout  life  in  America.  The  Ameri 
can  family  had  prolonged  itself  through  various  for 
tunes,  and  all  the  ups  and  downs  incident  to  our  insti 
tutions,  until  the  present  day.  They  had  some  old 
family  documents,  which  had  been  rather  carelessly 
kept  ;  but  the  present  representative,  being  an  edu 
cated  man,  had  looked  over  them,  and  found  one 
which  interested  him  strongly.  It  was  —  what  was  it  ? 
—  perhaps  a  copy  of  a  letter  written  by  his  ancestor 
on  his  deathbed,  telling  his  real  name,  and  relating 
the  above  incidents.  These  incidents  had  come  down 
in  a  vague,  wild  way,  traditionally,  in  the  American 
family,  forming  a  wondrous  and  incredible  legend, 
which  Middleton  had  often  laughed  at,  yet  been  greatly 
interested  in  ;  and  the  discovery  of  this  document 
seemed  to  give  a  certain  aspect  of  veracity  and  reality 
to  the  tradition.  Perhaps,  however,  the  document  only 
related  to  the  change  of  name,  and  made  reference  to 
certain  evidences  by  which,  if  any  descendant  of  the 
family  should  deem  it  expedient,  he  might  prove  his 
hereditary  identity.  The  legend  must  be  accounted 
for  by  having  been  gathered  from  the  talk  of  the  first 
ancestor  and  his  wife.  There  must  be  in  existence, 
in  the  early  records  of  the  colony,  an  authenticated 
statement  of  this  change  of  name,  and  satisfactory 
proofs  that  the  American  family,  long  known  as  Mid 
dleton,  were  really  a  branch  of  the  English  family  of 
Eldredge,  or  whatever.  And  in  the  legend,  though  not 
in  the  written  document,  there  must  be  an  account  of 
a  certain  magnificent,  almost  palatial  residence,  which 

387 


APPENDIX 

Middleton  shall  presume  to  be  the  ancestral  home; 
and  in  this  palace  there  shall  be  said  to  be  a  certain 
secret  chamber,  or  receptacle,  where  is  reposited  a 
document  that  shall  complete  the  evidence  of  the 
genealogical  descent. 

Middleton  is  still  a  young  man,  but  already  a  dis 
tinguished  one  in  his  own  country  -,  he  has  entered 
early  into  politics,  been  sent  to  Congress,  but  having 
met  with  some  disappointments  in  his  ambitious  hopes, 
and  being  disgusted  with  the  fierceness  of  political 
contests  in  our  country,  he  has  come  abroad  for  re 
creation  and  rest.  His  imagination  has  dwelt  much, 
in  his  boyhood,  on  the  legendary  story  of  his  family ; 
and  the  discovery  of  the  document  has  revived  these 
dreams.  He  determines  to  search  out  the  family  man 
sion  ;  and  thus  he  arrives,  bringing  half  of  a  story, 
being  the  only  part  known  in  America,  to  join  it  on 
to  the  other  half,  which  is  the  only  part  known  in 
England.  In  an  introduction  I  must  do  the  best  I 
can  to  state  his  side  of  the  matter  to  the  reader,  he 
having  communicated  it  to  me  in  a  friendly  way,  at 
the  Consulate;  as  many  people  have  communicated 
quite  as  wild  pretensions  to  English  genealogies. 

He  comes  to  the  midland  counties  of  England, 
where  he  conceives  his  claims  to  lie,  and  seeks  for  his 
ancestral  home ;  but  there  are  difficulties  in  the  way 
of  finding  it,  the  estates  having  passed  into  the  female 
line,  though  still  remaining  in  the  blood.  By  and  by, 
however,  he  comes  to  an  old  town  where  there  is 
one  of  the  charitable  institutions  bearing  the  name  of 
his  family,  by  whose  beneficence  it  had  indeed  been 
founded,  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time.  He  of  course 
388 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

becomes  interested  in  this  Hospital  ;  he  finds  it  still 
going  on,  precisely  as  it  did  in  the  old  days  ;  and  all 
the  character  and  life  of  the  establishment  must  be 
picturesquely  described.  Here  he  gets  acquainted  with 
an  old  man,  an  inmate  of  the  Hospital,  who  (if  the 
uncontrollable  fatality  of  the  story  will  permit)  must 
have  an  active  influence  on  the  ensuing  events.  I  sup 
pose  him  to  have  been  an  American,  but  to  have  fled 
his  country  and  taken  refuge  in  England  ;  he  shall 
have  been  a  man  of  the  Nicholas  Biddle  stamp,  a 
mighty  speculator,  the  ruin  of  whose  schemes  had 
crushed  hundreds  of  people,,  and  Middleton's  father 
among  the  rest.  Here  he  had  quitted  the  activity  of 
his  mind,  as  well  as  he  could,  becoming  a  local  anti 
quary,  etc.,  and  he  has  made  himself  acquainted  with 
the  family  history  of  the  Eldredges,  knowing  more 
about  it  than  the  members  of  the  family  themselves  do. 
He  had  known  in  America  (from  Middleton's  father, 
who  was  his  friend)  the  legends  preserved  in  this 
branch  of  the  family,  and  perhaps  had  been  struck  by 
the  way  in  which  they  fit  into  the  English  legends;  at 
any  rate,  this  strikes  him  when  Middleton  tells  him  his 
story  and  shows  him  the  document  respecting  the 
change  of  name.  After  various  conversations  together 
(in  which,  however,  the  old  man  keeps  the  secret  of 
his  own  identity,  and  indeed  acts  as  mysteriously  as 
possible),  they  go  together  to  visit  the  ancestral  man 
sion.  Perhaps  it  should  not  be  in  their  first  visit  that 
the  cabinet,  representing  the  stately  mansion,  shall  be 
seen.  But  the  Bloody  Footstep  may ;  which  shall  in 
terest  Middleton  much,  both  because  Hammond  has 
told  him  the  English  tradition  respecting  it,  and  be- 

389 


APPENDIX 

cause  too  the  legends  of  the  American  family  made 
some  obscure  allusions  to  his  ancestor  having  left 
blood  —  a  bloody  footstep  —  on  the  ancestral  thresh 
old.  This  is  the  point  to  which  the  story  has  now 
been  sketched  out.  Middleton  finds  a  commonplace 
old  English  country  gentleman  in  possession  of  the 
estate,  where  his  forefathers  have  lived  in  peace  for 
many  generations  ;  but  there  must  be  circumstances 
contrived  which  shall  cause  Middleton's  conduct  to  be 
attended  by  no  end  of  turmoil  and  trouble.  The  old 
Hospitaller,  I  suppose,  must  be  the  malicious  agent  in 
this  ;  and  his  malice  must  be  motived  in  some  satis 
factory  way.  The  more  serious  question,  what  shall 
be  the  nature  of  this  tragic  trouble,  and  how  can  it  be 
brought  about  ?  p 

May  nth,  Tuesday.  -4- How  much  better  would  it 
have  been  if  this  secret,  which  seemed  so  golden,  had 
remained  in  the  obscurity  in  which  two  hundred  years 
had  buried  it !  That  deep,  old,  grass-grown  grave  be 
ing  opened,  out  from  it  streamed  into  the  sunshine  the 
old  fatalities,  the  old  crimes,  the  old  misfortunes,  the 
sorrows,  that  seemed  to  have  departed  from  the  family 
forever.  But  it  was  too  late  now  to  close  it  up  ;  hex 
must  follow  out  the  thread  that  led  him  on|^uie 
thread  of  fate,  if  you  choose  to  call  it  so ;  but.  rather 
the  impulse  of  an  evil  will,  a  stubborn  self-interest,  a 
desire  for  certain  objects  of  ambition  which  were  pre 
ferred  to  what  yet  were  recognized  as  real  goods,  . 
Thus  reasoned,  thus  raved,  Eldredge,  as  he  considered 
the  things  that  he  had  done,  and  still  intended  to  do  ; 
nor  did  these  perceptions  make  the  slightest  difference 
in  his  plans,  nor  in  the  activity  with  which  he  set 
39° 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

about  their  performance.  For  this  purpose  he  sent  for 
his  lawyer,  and  consulted  him  on  the  feasibility  of  the 
design  which  he  had  already  communicated  to  him 

& 

respecting  Middleton.  But  the  man  of  law  shook  his 
head,  and,  though  deferentially,  declined  to  have  any 
active  concern  with  the  matter  that  threatened  to  lead 
him  beyond  the  bounds  which  he  allowed  himself,  into 
a  seductive  but  perilous  region. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  with  some  earnestness, 
"  you  had  much  better  content  yourself  with  such  as 
sistance  as  I  can  professionally  and  consistently  give 
you.  Believe  [me],  I  am  willing  to  do  a  lawyer's  ut 
most,  and  to  do  more  wrould  be  as  unsafe  for  the  client 
as  for  the  legal  adviser.'* 

Thus  left  without  an  agent  and  an  instrument,  this 
unfortunate  man  had  to  meditate  on  what  means  he 
would  use  to  gain  his  ends  through  his  own  unassisted 
efforts.  In  the  struggle  with  himself  through  which 
he  had  passed,  he  had  exhausted  pretty  much  all  the 
feelings  that  he  had  to  bestow  on  this  matter ;  and 
now  he  was  ready  to  take  hold  of  almost  any  tempta 
tion  that  might  present  itself,  so  long  as  it  showed  a 
good  prospect  of  success  and  a  plausible  chance  of 
impunity.  While  he  was  thus  musing,  he  heard  a 
female  voice  chanting  some  song,  like  a  bird's  among 
the  pleasant  foliage  of  the  trees,  and  soon  he  saw  at 
the  end  of  a  wood  walk  Alice,  with  her  basket  on  her 
arm,  passing  on  toward  the  village.  She  looked  to 
wards  him  as  she  passed,  but  made  no  pause  nor  yet 
hastened  her  steps,  not  seeming  to  think  it  worth  her 
while  to  be  influenced  by  him.  He  hurried  forward 
and  overtook  her. 

391 


APPENDIX 

rh 

So  there  was  this  poor  old  gentleman,  his  com 
fort  utterly  overthrown,  decking  his  white  hair  and 
wrinkled  brow  with  the  semblance  of  a  coronet,  and 
only  hoping  that  the  reality  might  crown  and  bless 
him  before  he  was  laid  in  the  ancestral  tomb.  It  was 
a  real  calamity  ;  though  by  no  means  the  greatest  that 
had  been  fished  up  out  of  the  pit  of  domestic  discord 
that  had  been  opened  anew  by  the  advent  of  the 
American,  and  by  the  use  which  had  been  made  of  it 
fey.  the  cantankerous  old  man  of  the  Hospital.  Mid- 
dleton,  as  he  looked  at  these  evil  consequences,  some 
times  regretted  that  he  had  not  listened  to  those  fore 
bodings  which  had  warned  him  back  on  the  eve  of  his 
enterprise  ;  yet  such  was  the  strange  entanglement 
and  interest  which  had  wound  about  him,  that  often 
he  rejoiced  that  for  once  he  was  engaged  in  something 
that  absorbed  him  fully,  and  the  zeal  for  the  develop 
ment  of  which  made  him  careless  for  the  result  in 
respect  to  its  good  or  evil,  but  only  desirous  that  it 
show  itself.  As  for  Alice,  she  seemed  to  skim  lightly 
through  all  these  matters,  whether  as  a  spirit  of  good 
or  ill  he  could  not  satisfactorily  judge.  He  could  not 
think  her  wicked  ;  yet  her  actions  seemed  unaccount 
able  on  the  plea  that  she  was  otherwise.  It  was  an 
other  characteristic  thread  in  the  wild  web  of  madness 
that  had  spun  itself  about  all  the  prominent  characters 
of  our  story.  And  when  Middleton  thought  of  these 
things,  he  felt  as  if  it  might  be  his  duty  (supposing  he 
had  the  power)  to  shovel  the  earth  again  into  the  pit 
that  he  had  been  the  means  of  opening ;  but  also  felt 
that,,  whether  duty  or  not,  he  would  never  perform  it. 

|For,  you  see,  on  the  American's  arrival  he  had 
392 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

found  the  estate  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  descend 
ants  ;  but  some  disclosures  consequent  on  his  arrival 
had  thrown  it  into  the  hands  of  another ;  or,  at  all 
events,  had  seemed  to  make  it  apparent  that  justice 
required  that  it  should  be  so  disposed  of.  No  sooner 
was  the  discovery  made  than  the  possessor  put  on  a 
coronet;  the  new  heir  had  commenced  legal  proceed 
ings  ;  the  sons  of  the  respective  branches  had  come 
to  blows  and  blood ;  and  the  devil  knows  what  other 
devilish  consequences  had  ensued.  Besides  this,  there 
was  much  falling  in  love  at  cross-purposes,  and  a  gen 
eral  animosity  of  everybody  against  everybody  else,  in 
proportion  to  the  closeness  of  the  natural  ties  and  , 
their  obligation  to  love  one  another. 

Thejiioralj  if  any  moral  were  to  be  gathered  from 
these  petty  and  wretched  circumstances,  was  :  "  Let 
the  past  alone:  do  not  seek  to  renew  it;  press  on  to 
higher  and  better  things,  —  at  all  events,  to  other 
things ;  and  be  assured  that  the  right  way  can  never 
be  that  which  leads  you  back  to  the  identical  shapes 
that  you  long  ago  left  behind.  Onward,  onward,  on 
ward  ! " 

"  What  have  you  to  do  here  ?"  said  Alice.  "Your 
lot  is  in  another  land.  You  have  seen  the  birthplace 
of  your  forefathers,  and  have  gratified  your  natural 
yearning  for  it ;  now  return,  and  cast  in  your  lot  with 
your  own  people,  let  it  be  what  it  will.  I  fully  be 
lieve  that  it  is  such  a  lot  as  the  world  has  never  yet 
seen,  and  that  the  faults,  the  weaknesses,  the  errors, 
of  your  countrymen  will  vanish  away  like  morning 
mists  before  the  rising  sun.  You  can  do  nothing 
better  than  to  go  back." 

393 


APPENDIX 

"This  is  strange  advice,  Alice,"  said  Middleton, 
gazing  at  her  and  smiling.  "Go  back,  with  such  a 
fair  prospect  before  me;  that  were  strange  indeed! 
It  is  enough  to  keep  me  here,  that  here  only  I  shall 
see  you,  —  enough  to  make  me  rejoice  to  have  come, 
that  I  have  found  you  here." 

"Do  not  speak  in  this  foolish  way!"  cried  Alice, 
panting.  "I  am  giving  you  the  best  advice,  and 
speaking  in  the  wisest  way  I  am  capable  of,  —  speak 
ing  on  good  grounds  too,  —  and  you  turn  me  aside 
with  a  silly  compliment.  I  tell  you  that  this  is  no 
comedy  in  which  we  are  performers,  but  a  deep,  sad 
tragedy;  and  that  it  depends  most  upon  you  whether 
or  no  it  shall  be  pressed  to  a  catastrophe.  Think 
well  of  it." 

"I  have  thought,  Alice,"  responded  the  young  man, 
"and  I  must  let  things  take  their  course;  if,  indeed, 
it  depends  at  all  upon  me,  which  I  see  no  present 
reason  to  suppose.  Yet  I  wish  you  would  explain  to 
me  what  you  mean." 

To  take  up  the  story  from  the  point  where  we  left 
it:  by  the  aid  of  the  American's  revelations,  some 
light  is  thrown  upon  points  of  family  history,  which 
induce  the  English  possessor  of  the  estate  to  suppose 
that  the  time  has  come  for  asserting  his  claim  to  a 
title  which  has  long  been  in  abeyance.  He  therefore 
sets  about  it,  and  engages  in  great  expenses,  besides 
contracting  the  enmity  of  many  persons,  with  whose 
interests  he  interferes.  A  further  complication  is 
brought  about  by  the  secret  interference  of  the  old 
Hospitaller,  and  Alice  goes  singing  and  dancing 
through  the  whole,  in  a  way  that  makes  her  seem  like 
394 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

a  beautiful  devil,  though  finally  it  will  be  recognized 
that  she  is  an  angel  of  light.  Middleton,  half  be 
wildered,  can  scarcely  tell  how  much  of  this  is  due  to 
his  own  agency;  how  much  is  independent  of  him 
and  would  have  happened  had  he  stayed  on  his  own 
side  of  the  water.  By  and  by  a  further  and  unex 
pected  development  presents  the  singular  fact  that  he 
himself  is  the  heir  to  whatever  claims  there  are, 
whether  of  property  or  rank, —  all  centring  in  him 
as  the  representative  of  the  eldest  brother.  On  this 
discovery  there  ensues  a  tragedy  in  the  death  of  the 
present  possessor  of  the  estate,  who  has  staked  every 
thing  upon  the  issue;  and  Middleton,  standing  amid 
the  ruin  and  desolation  of  which  he  has  been  the  in 
nocent  cause,  resigns  all  the  claims  which  he  might 
now  assert,  and  retires,  arm  in  arm  with  Alice,  who 
has  encouraged  him  to  take  this  course,  and  to  act  up 
to  his  character.  The  estate  takes  a  passage  into  the 
female  line,  and  the  old  name  becomes  extinct,  nor 
does  Middleton  seek  to  continue  it  by  resuming  it  in 
place  of  the  one  long  ago  assumed  by  his  ancestor. 
Thus  he  and  his  wife  become  the  Adam  and  Eve  of] 
a  new  epoch,  and  the  fitting  missionaries  of  a  new' 
social  faith,  of  which  there  must  be  continual  hints 
through  the  book. 

A  knot  of  characters  may  be  introduced  as  gather 
ing  around  Middleton,  comprising  expatriated  Amer 
icans  of  all  sorts  :  the  wandering  printer  who  came 
to  me  so  often  at  the  Consulate,  who  said  he  was  a 
native  of  Philadelphia,  and  could  not  go  home  in  the 
thirty  years  that  he  had  been  trying  to  do  so,  for  lack 
of  the  money  to  pay  his  passage ;  the  large  banker ; 
395 


APPENDIX 

the  consul  of  Leeds  ;  the  woman  asserting  her  claims 
to  half  Liverpool ;  the  gifted  literary  lady,  maddened 
by  Shakespeare,  etc.,  etc. ;  the  Yankee  who  had  been 
driven  insane  by  the  Queen's  notice,  slight  as  it  was, 
of  the  photographs  of  his  two  children  which  he  had 
sent  her.  J  I  have  not  yet  struck  the  true  keynote  of 
this  Romance,  and  until  I  do,  and  unless  I  do,  I  shall 
write  nothing  but  tediousness  and  nonsense.  I  do 
not  wish  it  to  be  a  picture  of  life,  but  a  Romance, 
grim,  grotesque,  quaint,  of  which  the  Hospital  might 
be  the  fitting  scene.  It  might  have  so  much  of  the 
hues  of  life  that  the  reader  should  sometimes  think  it 
was  intended  for  a  picture,  yet  the  atmosphere  should 
be  such  as  to  excuse  all  wildness.-,  In  the  Introduc 
tion,  I  might  disclaim  all  intention  to  draw  a  real 
picture,  but  say  that  the  continual  meetings  I  had  with 
Americans  bent  on  such  errands  had  suggested  this 
wild  story.  The  descriptions  of  scenery,  etc.,  and  of 
the  Hospital,  might  be  correct,  but  there  should  be  a 
tinge  of  the  grotesque  given  to  all  the  characters  and 
events.  The  tragic  and  the  gentler  pathetic  need  not 
be  excluded  by  the  tone  and  treatment.  If  I  could 
but  write  one  central  scene  in  this  vein,  all  the  rest  of 
the  Romance  would  readily  arrange  itself  around  that 
nucleus.  The  begging  girl  would  be  another  Ameri 
can  character ;  the  actress  too ;  the  caravan  people. 
It  must  be  humorous  work,  or  nothing. 

Ill 

May  1 2th,  Wednesday.  —  Middleton  found  his  abode 
here  becoming  daily  more  interesting ;   and  he  some- 
396 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

times  thought  that  it  was  the  sympathies  with  the  place 
and  people,  buried  under  the  supergrowth  of  so  many 
ages,  but  now  coming  forth  with  the  life  and  vigor  of 
a  fountain,  that,  long  hidden  beneath  earth  and  ruins, 
gushes  out  singing  into  the  sunshine,  as  soon  as  these 
are  removed.  He  wandered  about  the  neighborhood 
with  insatiable  interest ;  sometimes,  and  often,  lying 
on  a  hillside  and  gazing  at  the  gray  tower  of  the 
church;  sometimes  coming  into  the  village  clustered 
round  that  same  church,  and  looking  at  the  old  timber 
and  plaster  houses,  the  same,  except  that  the  thatch 
had  probably  been  often  renewed,  that  they  used  to 
be  in  his  ancestor's  days.  In  those  old  cottages  still 

dwelt  the  families,  the s,  the  Prices,  the  Hop- 

norts,  the  Copleys,  that  had  dwelt  there  when  Amer 
ica  was  a  scattered  progeny  of  infant  colonies  ;  and  in 
the  churchyard  were  the  graves  of  all  the  generations 
since  —  including  the  dust  of  those  who  had  seen  his 
ancestor's  face  before  his  departure. 

The  graves,  outside  the  church  walls  indeed,  bore 
no  marks  of  this  antiquity  ;  for  it  seems  not  to  have 
been  an  early  practice  in  England  to  put  stones  over 
such  graves  ;  and  where  it  has  been  done,  the  climate 
causes  the  inscriptions  soon  to  become  obliterated  and 
unintelligible.  But,  within  the  church,  there  were  rich 
words  of  the  personages  and  times  with  whom  Middle- 
ton's  musings  held  so  much  converse. 

But  one  of  his  greatest  employments  and  pastimes 
was  to  ramble  through  the  grounds  of  SmithelPs,  mak 
ing  himself  as  well  acquainted  with  its  wood  paths,  its 
glens,  its  woods,  its  venerable  trees,  as  if  he  had  been 
bred  up  there  from  infancy.  Some  of  those  old  oaks 
397 


APPENDIX 

his  ancestor  might  have  been  acquainted  with,  while 
they  were  already  sturdy  and  well-grown  trees  ;  might 
have  climbed  them  in  boyhood  ;  might  have  mused 
beneath  them  as  a  lover;  might  have  flung  himself  at 
full  length  on  the  turf  beneath  them,  in  the  bitter 
anguish  that  must  have  preceded  his  departure  forever 
from  the  home  of  his  forefathers.  In  order  to  secure 
an  uninterrupted  enjoyment  of  his  rambles  here,  Mid- 
dleton  had  secured  the  good  will  of  the  gamekeepers 
and  other  underlings  whom  he  was  likely  to  meet  about 
the  grounds,  by  giving  them  a  shilling  or  a  half-crown ; 
and  he  was  now  free  to  wander  where  he  would,  with 
only  the  advice  rather  than  the  caution,  to  keep  out 
of  the  way  of  their  old  master,  —  for  there  might  be 
trouble,  if  he  should  meet  a  stranger  on  the  grounds,  in 
any  of  his  tantrums.  But,  in  fact,  Mr.  Eldredge  was 
not  much  in  the  habit  of  walking  about  the  grounds ; 
and  there  were  hours  of  every  day,  during  which  it 
was  altogether  improbable  that  he  would  have  emerged 
from  his  own  apartments  in  the  manor  house.  These 
were  the  hours,  therefore,  when  Middleton  most  fre 
quented  the  estate  ;  although,  to  say  the  truth,  he  would 
gladly  have  so  timed  his  visits  as  to  meet  and  form 
an  acquaintance  with  the  lonely  lord  of  this  beautiful 
property,  his  own  kinsman,  though  with  so  many  ages 
of  dark  oblivion  between.  For  Middleton  had  not 
that  feeling  of  infinite  distance  in  the  relationship, 
which  he  would  have  had  if  his  branch  of  the  family 
had  continued  in  England,  and  had  not  intermarried 
with  the  other  branch,  through  such  a  long  waste  of 
years;  he  rather  felt  as  if  he  were  the  original  emi 
grant,  who,  long  resident  on  a  foreign  shore,  had  now 

398 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

returned,  with  a  heart  brimful  of  tenderness,  to  revisit 
the  scenes  of  his  youth,  and  renew  his  tender  relations 
with  those  who  shared  his  own  blood. 

There  was  not,  however,  much  in  what  he  heard 
of  the  character  of  the  present  possessor  of  the  estate 
—  or  indeed  in  the  strong  family  characteristic  that 
had  become  hereditary  —  to  encourage  him  to  attempt 
any  advances.  It  is  very  probable  that  the  religion 
of  Mr.  Eldredge,  as  a  Catholic,  may  have  excited  a 
prejudice  against  him,  as  it  certainly  had  insulated  the 
family,  in  a  great  degree,  from  the  sympathies  of  the 
neighborhood.  Mr.  Eldredge,  moreover,  had  resided 
long  on  the  Continent ;  long  in  Italy  ;  and  had  come 
back  with  habits  that  little  accorded  with  those  of  the 
gentry  of  the  neighborhood ;  so  that,  in  fact,  he  was 
almost  as  much  of  a  stranger,  and  perhaps  quite  as  lit 
tle  of  a  real  Englishman,  as  Middleton  himself.  Be 
that  as  it  might,  Middleton,  when  he  sought  to  learn 
something  about  him,  heard  the  strangest  stories  of  his 
habits  of  life,  of  his  temper,  and  of  his  employments, 
from  the  people  with  whom  he  conversed.  The  old 
legend,  turning  upon  the  monomania  of  the  family, 
was  revived  in  full  force  in  reference  to  this  poor  gen 
tleman ;  and  many  a  time  Middleton's  interlocutors 
shook  their  wise  heads,  saying,  with  a  knowing  look 
and  under  their  breath,  that  the  old  gentleman  was 
looking  for  the  track  of  the  Bloody  Footstep.  They 
fabled  —  or  said,  for  it  might  not  have  been  a  false 
story  —  that  every  descendant  of  this  house  had  a  cer 
tain  portion  of  his  life,  during  which  he  sought  the 
track  of  that  footstep  which  was  left  on  the  threshold 
of  the  mansion  ;  that  he  sought  it  far  and  wide,  over 
399 


APPENDIX 

every  foot  of  the  estate ;  not  only  on  the  estate,  but 
throughout  the  neighborhood ;  not  only  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  but  all  over  England ;  not  only  throughout 
England,  but  all  about  the  world.  It  was  the  belief  of 
the  neighborhood  —  at  least  of  some  old  men  and 
women  in  it — that  the  long  period  of  Mr.  Eldredge's 
absence  from  England  had  been  spent  in  the  search 
for  some  trace  of  those  departing  footsteps  that  had 
never  returned.  It  is  very  possible  —  probable,  in 
deed  —  that  there  may  have  been  some  ground  for 
this  remarkable  legend  ;  not  that  it  is  to  be  credited 
that  the  family  of  Eldredge,  being  reckoned  among 
sane  men,  would  seriously  have  sought,  years  and 
generations  after  the  fact,  for  the  first  track  of  those 
bloody  footsteps  which  the  first  rain  of  drippy  Eng 
land  must  have  washed  away  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the 
leaves  that  had  fallen  and  the  growth  and  decay  of  so 
many  seasons,  that  covered  all  traces  of  them  since. 
But  nothing  is  more  probable  than  that  the  continual 
recurrence  to  the  family  genealogy,  which  had  been 
necessitated  by  the  matter  of  the  dormant  peerage,  had 
caused  the  Eldredges,  from  father  to  son,  to  keep  alive 
an  interest  in  that  ancestor  who  had  disappeared,  and 
who  had  been  supposed  to  carry  some  of  the  most  im 
portant  family  papers  with  him.  But  yet  it  gave  Mid- 
dleton  a  strange  thrill  of  pleasure,  that  had  something 
fearful  in  it,  to  think  that  all  through  these  ages  he 
had  been  waited  for,  sought  for,  anxiously  expected, 
as  it  were ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  ghosts  of  his  kin 
dred,  a  long  shadowy  line,  held  forth  their  dim  arms 
to  welcome  him  ;  a  line  stretching  back  to  the  ghosts 
or  those  who  had  flourished  in  the  old,  old  times  i  the 
400 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

doubletted  and  beruffled  knightly  shades  of  Queen 
Elizabeth's  time;  a  long  line,  stretching  from  the 
mediaeval  ages,  and  their  duskiness,  downward,  down 
ward,  with  only  one  vacant  space,  that  of  him  who 
had  left  the  Bloody  Footstep.  There  was  an  inex 
pressible  pleasure  (airy  and  evanescent,  gone  in  a 
moment  if  he  dwelt  upon  it  too  thoughtfully,  but  very 
sweet)  to  Middleton's  imagination,  in  this  idea.  When 
he  reflected,  however,  that  his  revelations,  if  they  had 
any  effect  at  all,  might  serve  only  to  quench  the  hopes 
of  these  long  expectants,  it  of  course  made  him  hesi 
tate  to  declare  himself. 

One  afternoon,  when  he  was  in  the  midst  of  mus 
ings  such  as  this,  he  saw  at  a  distance  through  the 
park,  in  the  direction  of  the  manor  house,  a  person 
who  seemed  to  be  walking  slowly  and  seeking  for 
something  upon  the  ground.  He  was  a  long  way  off 
when  Middleton  first  perceived  him  ;  and  there  were 
two  clumps  of  trees  and  underbrush,  with  interspersed 
tracts  of  sunny  lawn,  between  them.  The  person, 
whoever  he  was,  kept  on,  and  plunged  into  the  first 
clump  of  shrubbery,  still  keeping  his  eyes  on  the 
ground,  as  if  intensely  searching  for  something.  When 
he  emerged  from  the  concealment  of  the  first  clump 
of  shrubbery,  Middleton  saw  that  he  was  a  tall,  thin 
person,  in  a  dark  dress;  and  this  was  the  chief  obser 
vation  that  the  distance  enabled  him  to  make,  as  thf 
figure  kept  slowly  onward,  in  a  somewhat  wavering 
line,  and  plunged  into  the  second  clump  of  shrubbery. 
From  that,  too,  he  emerged;  and  soon  appeared  to  be 
a  thin  elderly  figure,  of  a  dark  man  with  gray  hair, 
bent,  as  it  seemed  to  Middleton,  with  infirmity,  for  his 
401 


APPENDIX 

figure  still  stooped  even  in  the  intervals  when  he  did 
not  appear  to  be  tracking  the  ground.  But  Middle- 
ton  could  not  but  be  surprised  at  the  singular  appear 
ance  the  figure  had  of  setting  its  foot,  at  every  step, 
just  where  a  previous  footstep  had  been  made,  as  if 
he  wanted  to  measure  his  whole  pathway  in  the  track 
of  somebody  who  had  recently  gone  over  the  ground 
in  advance  of  him.  Middleton  was  sitting  at  the  foot 
of  an  oak  ;  and  he  began  to  feel  some  awkwardness  in 
the  consideration  of  what  he  would  do  if  Mr.  Eldredge 
-. —  for  he  could  not  doubt  that  it  was  he  —  were  to 
be  led  just  to  this  spot,  in  pursuit  of  his  singular  oc 
cupation.  And  even  so  it  proved. 

Middleton  could  not  feel  it  manly  to  fly  and  hide 
himself,  like  a  guilty  thing ;  and  indeed  the  hospital 
ity  of  the  English  country  gentleman  in  many  cases 
gives  the  neighborhood  and  the  stranger  a  certain  de 
gree  of  freedom  in  the  use  of  the  broad  expanse  of 
ground  in  which  they  and  their  forefathers  have  loved 
to  sequester  their  residences.  The  figure  kept  on, 
showing  more  and  more  distinctly  the  tall,  meagre, 
not  unvenerable  features  of  a  gentleman  in  the  decline 
of  life,  apparently  in  ill  health  j  with  a  dark  face,  that 
might  once  have  been  full  of  energy,  but  now  seemed 
enfeebled  by  time,  passion,  and  perhaps  sorrow.  But 
it  was  strange  to  see  the  earnestness  with  which  he 
looked  on  the  ground,  and  the  accuracy  with  which 
he  at  last  set  his  foot,  apparently  adjusting  it  exactly 
to  some  footprint  before  him;  and  Middleton  doubted 
not  that,  having  studied  and  re-studied  the  family  re 
cords  and  the  judicial  examinations  which  described 
exactly  the  track  that  was  seen  the  day  after  the  mem- 
402 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

orable  disappearance  of  his  ancestor,  Mr.  Eldredge 
was  now,  in  some  freak,  or  for  some  purpose  best 
known  to  himself,  practically  following  it  out.  And 
follow  it  out  he  did,  until  at  last  he  lifted  up  his  eyes, 
muttering  to  himself,  "At  this  point  the  footsteps 
wholly  disappear." 

Lifting  his  eyes,  as  we  have  said,  while  thus  regret 
fully  and  despairingly  muttering  these  words,  he  saw 
Middleton  against  the  oak,  within  three  paces  of  him. 

May  ijth,  Thursday.  —  Mr.  Eldredge  (for  it  was 
he)  first  kept  his  eyes  fixed  full  on  Middleton's  face, 
with  an  expression  as  if  he  saw  him  not ;  but  gradu 
ally —  slowly,  at  first  —  he  seemed  to  become  aware 
of  his  presence ;  then,  with  a  sudden  flush,  he  took  in 
the  idea  that  he  was  encountered  by  a  stranger  in  his 
secret  mood.  A  flush  of  anger  or  shame,  perhaps 
both,  reddened  over  his  face  ;  his  eyes  gleamed  ;  and 
he  spoke  hastily  and  roughly. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  How  come  you  here  ? 
I  allow  no  intruders  in  my  park.  Begone,  fellow !  " 

"Really,  sir,  I  did  not  mean  to  intrude  upon  you," 
said  Middleton  blandly.  u  I  am  aware  that  I  owe  you 
an  apology ;  but  the  beauties  of  your  park  must  plead 
my  excuse,  and  the  constant  kindness  of  [the]  Eng 
lish  gentleman,  which  admits  a  stranger  to  the  privi 
lege  of  enjoying  so  much  of  the  beauty  in  which  he 
himself  dwells  as  the  stranger's  taste  permits  him  to 
enjoy." 

"An  artist,  perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Eldredge,  somewhat 

less  uncourteously.    "  I  am  told  that  they  love  to  come 

here  and  sketch  those  old   oaks  and  their  vistas,  and 

the  old  mansion   yonder.     But  you  are  an   intrusive 

403 


APPENDIX 

set,  you  artists,  and  think  that  a  pencil  and  a  sheet  of 
paper  may  be  your  passport  anywhere.  You  are  mis 
taken,  sir.  My  park  is  not  open  to  strangers." 

u  I  am  sorry,  then,  to  have  intruded  upon  you," 
said  Middleton,  still  in  good  humor;  for  in  truth  he 
felt  a  sort  of  kindness,  a  sentiment,  ridiculous  as  it 
may  appear,  of  kindred  towards  the  old  gentleman, 
and  besides  was  not  unwilling  in  any  way  to  prolong 
a  conversation  in  which  he  found  a  singular  interest. 
u  I  am  sorry,  especially  as  I  have  not  even  the  excuse 
you  kindly  suggest  for  me.  I  am  not  an  artist,  only 
an  American,  who  have  strayed  hither  to  enjoy  this 
gentle,  cultivated,  tamed  nature  which  I  find  in  Eng 
lish  parks,  so  contrasting  with  the  wild,  rugged  nature 
of  my  native  land.  I  beg  your  pardon,  and  will  re 
tire." 

"  An  American,"  repeated  Mr.  Eldredge,  looking 
curiously  at  him.  "Ah,  you  are  wild  men  in  that 
country,  I  suppose,  and  cannot  conceive  that  an  Eng 
lish  gentleman  encloses  his  grounds  —  or  that  his 
ancestors  have  done  so  before  him  —  for  his  own 
pleasure  and  convenience,  and  does  not  calculate  on 
having  it  infringed  upon  by  everybody,  like  your  own 
forests,  as  you  say.  It  is  a  curious  country,  that  of 
yours ;  and  in  Italy  I  have  seen  curious  people  from 
it." 

"True,  sir,"  said  Middleton,  smiling.  "We  send 
queer  specimens  abroad;  but  Englishmen  should  con 
sider  that  we  spring  from  them,  and  that  we  present 
after  all  only  a  picture  of  their  own  characteristics,  a 
little  varied  by  climate  and  in  situation." 

Mr.  Eldredge  looked  at  him  with  a  certain  kind  of 
404 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

interest,  and  it  seemed  to  Middleton  that  he  was  not 
unwilling  to  continue  the  conversation,  if  a  fair  way 
to  do  so  could  only  be  offered  to  him.  A  secluded 
man  often  grasps  at  any  opportunity  of  communicat 
ing  with  his  kind,  when  it  is  casually  offered  to  him, 
and  for  the  nonce  is  surprisingly  familiar,  running  out 
towards  his  chance  companion  with  the  gush  of  a 
dammed-up  torrent,  suddenly  unlocked.  As  Middle- 
ton  made  a  motion  to  retire,  he  put  out  his  hand  with 
an  air  of  authority  to  restrain  him. 

"  Stay,"  said  he.  u  Now  that  you  are  here,  the  mis 
chief  is  done,  and  you  cannot  repair  it  by  hastening 
away.  You  have  interrupted  me  in  my  mood  of 
thought,  and  must  pay  the  penalty  by  suggesting  other 
thoughts.  I  am  a  lonely  man  here,  having  spent  most 
of  my  life  abroad,  and  am  separated  from  my  neigh 
bors  by  various  circumstances.  You  seem  to  be  an 
intelligent  man.  I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  few  ques 
tions  about  your  country." 

He  looked  at  Middleton  as  he  spoke,  and  seemed 
to  be  considering  in  what  rank  of  life  he  should  place 
him ;  his  dress  being  such  as  suited  a  humble  rank. 
He  seemed  not  to  have  come  to  any  very  certain  de 
cision  on  this  point. 

"I  remember,"  said  he,  "you  have  no  distinctions 
of  rank  in  your  country  ;  a  convenient  thing  enough, 
in  some  respects.  When  there  are  no  gentlemen,  all 
are  gentlemen.  So  let  it  be.  You  speak  of  being  Eng 
lishmen  ;  and  it  has  often  occurred  to  me  that  English 
men  have  left  this  country  and  been  much  missed  and 
sought  after,  who  might  perhaps  be  sought  there  suc*^ 
cessfully." 

405 


APPENDIX 

"  It  is  certainly  so,  Mr.  Eldredge,"  said  Middleton, 
lifting  his  eyes  to  his  face  as  he  spoke,  and  then  turn 
ing  them  aside.  u  Many  footsteps,  the  track  of  which 
is  lost  in  England,  might  be  found  reappearing  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic ;  ay,  though  it  be  hundreds 
of  years  since  the  track  was  lost  here." 

Middleton,  though  he  had  refrained  from  looking 
full  at  Mr.  Eldredge  as  he  spoke,  was  conscious  that 
he  gave  a  great  start;  and  he  remained  silent  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  when  he  spoke  there  was  the 
tremor  in  his  voice  of  a  nerve  that  had  been  struck 
and  still  vibrated. 

"That  is  a  singular  idea  of  yours,"  he  at  length 
said ;  "  not  singular  in  itself,  but  strangely  coincident 
with  something  that  happened  to  be  occupying  my 
mind.  Have  you  ever  heard  any  such  instances  as 
you  speak  of  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Middleton,  "  I  have  had  pointed 
out  to  me  the  rightful  heir  to  a  Scottish  earldom,  in 
the  person  of  an  American  farmer,  in  his  shirt  sleeves. 
There  are  many  Americans  who  believe  themselves 
to  hold  similar  claims.  And  I  have  known  one  fam 
ily,  at  least,  who  had  in  their  possession,  and  had  had 
for  two  centuries,  a  secret  that  might  have  been  worth 
wealth  and  honors  if  known  in  England.  Indeed, 
being  kindred  as  we  are,  it  cannot  but  be  the  case." 

Mr.  Eldredge  appeared  to  be  much  struck  by  these 
last  words,  and  gazed  wistfully,  almost  wildly,  at  Mid 
dleton,  as  if  debating  with  himself  whether  to  say  more. 
He  made  a  step  or  two  aside ;  then  returned  abruptly, 
and  spoke. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the  family  in  which 
406 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

this  secret  was  kept  ?  "  said  he ;  "  and  the  nature  of 
the  secret  ?  " 

"  The  nature  of  the  secret,"  said  Middleton,  smil 
ing,  u  was  not  likely  to  be  extended  to  any  one  out  of 
the  family.  The  name  borne  by  the  family  was  Mid 
dleton.  There  is  no  member  of  it,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware,  at  this  moment  remaining  in  America." 

"  And  has  the  secret  died  with  them  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Eldredge. 

"They  communicated  it  to  none,"  said  Middleton. 

"  It  is  a  pity  !  It  was  a  villainous  wrong,"  said 
Mr.  Eldredge.  "  And  so,  it  may  be,  some  ancient 
line,  in  the  old  country,  is  defrauded  of  its  rights  for 
want  of  what  might  have  been  obtained  from  this 
Yankee,  whose  democracy  has  demoralized  them  to 
the  perception  of  what  is  due  to  the  antiquity  of  de 
scent,  and  of  the  bounden  duty  that  there  is,  in  all 
ranks,  to  keep  up  the  honor  of  a  family  that  has  had 
potence  enough  to  preserve  itself  in  distinction  for  a 
thousand  years." 

"Yes,"  said  Middleton  quietly,  "we  have  sympa 
thy  with  what  is  strong  and  vivacious  to-day  ;  none 
with  what  was  so  yesterday." 

The  remark  seemed  not  to  please  Mr.  Eldredge; 
he  frowned,  and  muttered  something  to  himself;  but 
recovering  himself,  addressed  Middleton  with  more 
courtesy  than  at  the  commencement  of  their  inter 
view  ;  and,  with  this  graciousness,  his  face  and  man 
ner  grew  very  agreeable,  almost  fascinating  :  he  [was] 
still  haughty,  however. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  sorry  to  have  met 
you.  I  am  a  solitary  man,  as  I  have  said,  and  a  little 
407 


APPENDIX 

communication  with  a  stranger  is  a  refreshment,  which 
I  enjoy  seldom  enough  to  be  sensible  of  it.  Pray,  are 
you  staying  hereabouts  ?  " 

Middleton  signified  to  him  that  he  might  probably 
spend  some  little  time  in  the  village. 

"  Then,  during  your  stay,"  said  Mr.  Eldredge, 
"make  free  use  of  the  walks  in  these  grounds  ;  and 
though  it  is  not  probable  that  you  will  meet  me  in 
them  again,  you  need  apprehend  no  second  question 
ing  of  your  right  to  be  here.  My  house  has  many 
points  of  curiosity  that  may  be  of  interest  to  a  stranger 
from  a  new  country.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of 
some  of  them." 

"I  have  heard  some  wild  legend  about  a  Bloody 
Footstep,"  answered  Middleton  ;  "  indeed,  I  think  I 
remember  hearing  something  about  it  in  my  own 
country;  and  having  a  fanciful  sort  of  interest  in  such 
things,  I  took  advantage  of  the  hospitable  custom 
which  opens  the  doors  of  curious  old  houses  to  stran 
gers  to  go  to  see  it.  It  seemed  to  me,  I  confess,  only 
a  natural  stain  in  the  old  stone  that  forms  the  door 
step." 

"There,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Eldredge,  "let  me  say  that 
you  came  to  a  very  foolish  conclusion ;  and  so,  good- 
by,  sir." 

And  without  further  ceremony,  he  cast  an  angry 
glance  at  Middleton,  who  perceived  that  the  old  gen 
tleman  reckoned  the  Bloody  Footstep  among  his  an 
cestral  honors,  and  would  probably  have  parted  with 
his  claim  to  the  peerage  almost  as  soon  as  have  given 
up  the  legend. 

Present  aspect  of  the  story :   Middleton  on  his  ar- 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

rival  becomes  acquainted  with  the  old  Hospitaller,  and 
is  familiarized  at  the  Hospital.  He  pays  a  visit  in  his 
company  to  the  manor  house,  but  merely  glimpses  at 
its  remarkable  things,  at  this  visit,  among  others  at  the 
old  cabinet,  which  does  not,  at  first  view,  strike  him 
very  strongly.  But,  on  musing  about  his  visit  after 
wards,  he  finds  the  recollection  of  the  cabinet  strangely 
identifying  itself  with  his  previous  imaginary  picture 
of  the  palatial  mansion  ;  so  that  at  last  he  begins  to 
conceive  the  mistake  he  has  made.  At  this  first 
[visit],  he  does  not  have  a  personal  interview  with 
the  possessor  of  the  estate;  but,  as  the  Hospitaller 
and  himself  go  from  room  to  room,  he  finds  that  the 
owner  is  preceding  them,  shyly  flitting  like  a  ghost,  so 
as  to  avoid  them.  Then  there  is  a  chapter  about  the 
character  of  the  Eldredge  of  the  day,  a  Catholic,  a 
morbid,  shy  man,  representing  all  the  peculiarities  of 
an  old  family,  and  generally  thought  to  be  insane. 
And  then  comes  the  interview  between  him  and  Mid- 
dleton,  where  the  latter  excites  such  an  interest  that 
he  dwells  upon  the  old  man's  mind,  and  the  latter 
probably  takes  pains  to  obtain  further  intercourse  with 
him,  and  perhaps  invites  him  to  dinner,  and  [to] 
spend  a  night  in  his  house.  If  so,  this  second  meet 
ing  must  lead  to  the  examination  of  the  cabinet,  and 
the  discovery  of  some  family  documents  in  it.  Per 
haps  the  cabinet  may  be  in  Middleton's  sleeping  cham 
ber,  and  he  examines  it  by  himself,  before  going  to  bed ; 
and  finds  out  a  secret  which  will  perplex  him  how  to 
deal  with  it. 

May  14-th,  Friday.  —  We  have  spoken  several  times 
already  of  a  young  girl,  who  was  seen  at  this  penod 
409 


APPENDIX 

about  the  little  antiquated  village  of  Smithell's,  —  a  girl 
in  manners  and  in  aspect  unlike  those  of  the  cottages 
amid  which  she  dwelt.  Middleton  had  now  so  often 
met  her,  and  in  solitary  places,  that  an  acquaintance  had 
inevitably  established  itself  between  them.  He  had 
ascertained  that  she  had  lodgings  at  a  farmhouse  near 
by,  and  that  she  was  connected  in  some  way  with  the 
old  Hospitaller,  whose  acquaintance  had  proved  of 
such  interest  to  him  ;  but  more  than  this  he  could  not 
learn  either  from  her  or  others.  But  he  was  greatly 
attracted  and  interested  by  the  free  spirit  and  fearless 
ness  of  this  young  woman  ;  nor  could  he  conceive 
where,  in  staid  and  formal  England,  she  had  grown  up 
to  be  such  as  she  was,  so  without  manner,  so  without 
art,  yet  so  capable  of  doing  and  thinking  for  herself. 
She  had  no  reserve,  apparently,  yet  never  seemed  to 
sin  against  decorum  ;  it  never  appeared  to  restrain 
her  that  anything  she  might  wish  to  do  was  contrary 
to  custom  ;  she  had  nothing  of  what  could  be  called 
shyness  in  her  intercourse  with  him  ;  and  yet  he  was 
conscious  of  an  unapproachableness  in  Alice.  Often, 
in  the  old  man's  presence,  she  mingled  in  the  conver 
sation  that  went  on  between  him  and  Middleton,  and 
with  an  acuteness  that  betokened  a  sphere  of  thought 
much  beyond  what  could  be  customary  with  young 
English  maidens ;  and  Middleton  was  often  reminded 
of  the  theories  of  those  in  our  own  country,  who  be 
lieve  that  the  amelioration  of  society  depends  greatly 
on  the  part  that  women  shall  hereafter  take,  according 
to  their  individual  capacity,  in  all  the  various  pursuits 
of  life.  These  deeper  thoughts,  these  higher  quali 
ties,  surprised  him  as  they  showed  themselves,  when- 
410 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

ever  occasion  called  them  forth,  under  the  light,  gay, 
and  frivolous  exterior  which  she  had  at  first  seemed  to 
present.  Middleton  often  amused  himself  with  sur 
mises  in  what  rank  of  life  Alice  could  have  been  bred, 
being  so  free  of  all  conventional  rule,  yet  so  nice  and 
delicate  in  her  perception  of  the  true  proprieties  that 
she  never  shocked  him. 

One  morning,  when  they  had  met  in  one  of  Mid- 
dleton's  rambles  about  the  neighborhood,  they  began 
to  talk  of  America  ;  and  Middleton  described  to  Alice 
the  stir  that  was  being  made  in  behalf  of  women's 
rights ;  and  he  said  that  whatever  cause  was  generous 
and  disinterested  always,  in  that  country,  derived  much 
of  its  power  from  the  sympathy  of  women,  and  that 
the  advocates  of  every  such  cause  were  in  favor  of 
yielding  the  whole  field  of  human  effort  to  be  shared 
with  women. 

"I  have  been  surprised,"  said  he,  "in  the  little  I 
have  seen  and  heard  of  Englishwomen,  to  discover 
what  a  difference  there  is  between  them  and  my  own 
countrywomen." 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Alice,  with  a  smile,  "that 
your  countrywomen  are  a  far  more  delicate  and  fragile 
race  than  Englishwomen  ;  pale,  feeble  hothouse  plants, 
unfit  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  life,  without  energy  of 
character,  or  any  slightest  degree  of  physical  strength 
to  base  it  upon.  If,  now,  you  had  these  large-framed 
Englishwomen,  you  might,  I  should  imagine,  with 
better  hopes,  set  about  changing  the  system  of  society, 
so  as  to  allow  them  to  struggle  in  the  strife  of  politics, 
or  any  other  strife,  hand  to  hand,  or  side  by  side  with 
men." 

411 


APPENDIX 

"  If  any  countryman  of  mine  has  said  this  of  our 
women,"  exclaimed  Middleton  indignantly,  "  he  is  a 
slanderous  villain,  unworthy  to  have  been  borne  by  an 
American  mother;  if  an  Englishman  has  said  it,  —  as 
I  know  many  of  them  have  and  do,  —  let  it  pass  as 
one  of  the  many  prejudices,  only  half  believed,  with 
which  they  strive  to  console  themselves  for  the  inevi 
table  sense  that  the  American  race  is  destined  to  higher 
purposes  than  their  own.  But  pardon  me;  I  forgot 
that  I  was  speaking  to  an  Englishwoman,  for  indeed 
you  do  not  remind  me  of  them.  But,  I  assure  you, 
the  world  has  not  seen  such  women  as  make  up,  I 
had  almost  said  the  mass  of  womanhood  in  my  own 
country ;  slight  in  aspect,  slender  in  frame,  as  you 
suggest,  but  yet  capable  of  bringing  forth  stalwart 
men ;  they  themselves  being  of  inexhaustible  courage, 
patience,  energy;  soft  and  tender,  deep  of  heart,  but 
high  of  purpose ;  gentle,  refined,  but  bold  in  every 
good  cause." 

"  O,  you  have  said  quite  enough,"  replied  Alice, 
who  had  seemed  ready  to  laugh  outright,  during  this 
encomium.  "  I  think  I  see  one  of  these  paragons 
now,  in  a  Bloomer,  I  think  you  call  it,  swaggering 
along  with  a  Bowie  knife  at  her  girdle,  smoking  a 
cigar,  no  doubt,  and  tippling  sherry  cobblers  and  mint 
juleps.  It  must  be  a  pleasant  life." 

"  I  should  think  you,  at  least,  might  form  a  more 
just  idea  of  what  women  become,"  said  Middleton, 
considerably  piqued,  "  in  a  country  where  the  rules  of 
conventionalism  are  somewhat  relaxed  ;  where  woman, 
whatever  you  may  think,  is  far  more  profoundly  edu 
cated  than  in  England,  where  a  few  ill-caught  accom- 
412 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

plishments,  a  little  geography,  a  catechism  of  science, 
make  up  the  sum,  under  the  superintendence  of  a 
governess;  the  mind  being  kept  entirely  inert  as  to 
any  capacity  for  thought.  They  are  cowards,  except 
within  certain  rules  and  forms ;  they  spend  a  life  of 
old  proprieties,  and  die,  and  if  their  souls  do  not  die 
with  them,  it  is  Heaven's  mercy." 

Alice  did  not  appear  in  the  least  moved  to  anger, 
though  considerably  to  mirth,  by  this  description  of 
the  character  of  English  females.  She  laughed  as  she 
replied,  u  I  see  there  is  little  danger  of  your  leaving 
your  heart  in  England."  She  added  more  seriously  : 
"  And  permit  me  to  say,  I  trust,  Mr.  Middleton,  that 
you  remain  as  much  American  in  other  respects  as  in 
your  preference  of  your  own  race  of  women.  The 
American  who  comes  hither  and  persuades  himself 
that  he  is  one  with  Englishmen,  it  seems  to  me,  makes 
a  great  mistake;  at  least,  if  he  is  correct  in  such  an 
idea,  he  is  not  worthy  of  his  own  country,  and  the 
high  development  that  awaits  it.  There  is  much  that 
is  seductive  in  our  life,  but  I  think  it  is  not  upon  the 
higher  impulses  of  our  nature  that  such  seductions 
act.  I  should  think  ill  of  the  American  who,  for  any 
causes  of  ambition,  —  any  hope  of  wealth  or  rank, — 
or  even  for  the  sake  of  any  of  those  old,  delightful 
ideas  of  the  past,  the  associations  of  ancestry,  the  love 
liness  of  an  age-long  home, —  the  old  poetry  and  ro 
mance  that  haunt  these  ancient  villages  and  estates  of 
England,  —  would  give  up  the  chance  of  acting  upon 
the  unmoulded  future  of  America." 

"  And  you,  an  Englishwoman,  speak  thus !  "  ex 
claimed  Middleton.  "  You  perhaps  speak  truly  ;  and 

413 


APPENDIX 

it  may  be  that  your  words  go  to  a  point  where  they 
are  especially  applicable  at  this  moment.  Bui  where 
have  you  learned  these  ideas  ?  And  how  is  it  that 
you  know  how  to  awake  these  sympathies,  that  have 
slept  perhaps  too  long  ?  " 

"  Think  only  if  what  I  have  said  be  truth,"  replied 
Alice.  "  It  is  no  matter  who  or  what  I  am  that 
speak  it." 

"  Do  you  speak,"  asked  Middleton,  from  a  sudden 
impulse,  u  with  any  secret  knowledge  affecting  a  mat 
ter  now  in  my  mind  ?  " 

Alice  shook  her  head,  as  she  turned  away  ;  but 
Middleton  could  not  determine  whether  the  gesture 
was  meant  as  a  negative  to  his  question,  or  merely  as 
declining  to  answer  it.  She  left  him  ;  and  he  found 
himself  strangely  disturbed  with  thoughts  of  his  own 
country,  of  the  life  that  he  ought  to  be  leading  there, 
the  struggles  in  which  he  ought  to  be  taking  part ; 
and,  with  these  motives  in  his  impressible  mind,  the 
motives  that  had  hitherto  kept  him  in  England  seemed 
unworthy  to  influence  him. 

May  i^th,  Saturday.  —  It  was  not  long  after  Mid- 
dleton's  meeting  with  Mr.  Eldredge  in  the  park  of 
Smithell's,  that  he  received  —  what  it  is  precisely  the 
most  common  thing  to  receive  —  an  invitation  to  dine 
at  the  manor  house  and  spend  the  night.  The  note 
was  written  with  much  appearance  of  cordiality,  as 
well  as  in  a  respectful  style;  and  Middleton  could 
not  but  perceive  that  Mr.  Eldredge  must  have  been 
making  some  inquiries  as  to  his  social  status,  in  order 
to  feel  justified  in  putting  him  on  this  footing  of 
equality.  He  had  no  hesitation  in  accepting  the  invi- 
414 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

tation,  and  on  the  appointed  day  was  received  in  the 
old  house  of  his  forefathers  as  a  guest.  The  owner 
met  him,  not  quite  on  the  frank  and  friendly  footing 
expressed  in  his  note,  but  still  with  a  perfect  and  pol 
ished  courtesy,  which,  however,  could  not  hide  from 
the  sensitive  Middleton  a  certain  coldness,  a  something 
that  seemed  to  him  Italian  rather  than  English;  a 
symbol  of  a  condition  of  things  between  them,  unde 
cided,  suspicious,  doubtful  very  likely.  Middleton's 
own  manner  corresponded  to  that  of  his  host,  and 
they  made  few  advances  towards  more  intimate  ac 
quaintance.  Middleton  was,  however,  recompensed 
for  his  host's  unapproachableness  by  the  society  of  his 
daughter,  a  young  lady  born  indeed  in  Italy,  but  who 
had  been  educated  in  a  Catholic  family  in  England ; 
so  that  here  was  another  relation  —  the  first  female 
one  —  to  whom  he  had  been  introduced.  She  was  a 
quiet,  shy,  undemonstrative  young  woman,  with  a  fine 
bloom  and  other  charms  which  she  kept  as  much  in 
the  background  as  possible,  with  maiden  reserve. 
(There  is  a  Catholic  priest  at  table.) 

Mr.  Eldredge  talked  chiefly,  during  dinner,  of  art, 
with  which  his  long  residence  in  Italy  had  made  him 
thoroughly  acquainted,  and  for  which  he  seemed  to 
have  a  genuine  taste  and  enjoyment.  It  was  a  subject 
on  which  Middleton  knew  little  ;  but  he  felt  the  in 
terest  in  it  which  appears  to  be  not  uncharacteristic  of 
Americans,  among  the  earliest  of  their  developments 
of  cultivation  ;  nor  had  he  failed  to  use  such  few  op 
portunities  as  the  English  public  or  private  galleries 
offered  him  to  acquire  the  rudiments  of  a  taste.  He 
was  surprised  at  the  depth  of  some  of  Mr.  Eldredge's 
415 


APPENDIX 

remarks  on  the  topics  thus  brought  up,  and  at  the  sen 
sibility  which  appeared  to  be  disclosed  by  his  delicate 
appreciation  of  some  of  the  excellences  of  those  great 
masters  who  wrote  their  epics,  their  tender  sonnets, 
or  their  simple  ballads,  upon  canvas  ;  and  Middleton 
conceived  a  respect  for  him  which  he  had  not  hitherto 
felt,  and  which  possibly  Mr.  Eldredge  did  not  quite 
deserve.  Taste  seems  to  be  a  department  of  moral 
sense;  and  yet  it  is  so  little  identical  with  it,  and  so 
little  implies  conscience,  that  some  of  the  worst  men 
in  the  world  have  been  the  most  refined. 

After  Miss  Eldredge  had  retired,  the  host  appeared 
to  desire  to  make  the  dinner  a  little  more  social  than 
it  had  hitherto  been  ;  he  called  for  a  peculiar  species 
of  wine  from  Southern  Italy,  which  he  said  was  the 
most  delicious  production  of  the  grape,  and  had  very 
seldom,  if  ever  before,  been  imported  pure  into  England. 
A  delicious  perfume  came  from  the  cradled  bottle,  and 
bore  an  ethereal,  evanescent  testimony  to  the  truth  of 
what  he  said ;  and  the  taste,  though  too  delicate  for 
wine  quaffed  in  England,  was  nevertheless  delicious, 
when  minutely  dwelt  upon. 

u  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  drink  your  health,  Mr. 
Middleton,"  said  the  host.  "  We  might  well  meet  as 
friends  in  England,  for  I  am  hardly  more  an  English 
man  than  yourself;  bred  up,  as  I  have  been,  in  Italy, 
and  coming  back  hither  at  my  age,  unaccustomed  to 
the  manners  of  the  country,  with  few  friends,  and  in 
sulated  from  society  by  a  faith  which  makes  most  peo 
ple  regard  me  as  an  enemy.  I  seldom  welcome  people 
here,  Mr.  Middleton  ;  but  you  are  welcome." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Eldredge,  and  may  fairly  say 
416 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

that  the  circumstances  to  which  you  allude  make  me 
accept  your  hospitality  with  a  warmer  feeling  than  I 
otherwise  might.  Strangers,  meeting  in  a  strange  land, 
have  a  sort  of  tie  in  their  foreignness  to  those  around 
them,  though  there  be  no  positive  relation  between 
themselves." 

"We  are  friends,  then  ?  "  said  Mr.  Eldredge,  look 
ing  keenly  at  Middleton,  as  if  to  discover  exactly  how 
much  was  meant  by  the  compact.  He  continued:  "You 
know,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Middleton,  the  situation  in  which 
I  find  myself  on  returning  to  my  hereditary  estate, 
which  has  devolved  to  me  somewhat  unexpectedly  by 
the  death  of  a  younger  man  than  myself.  There  is 
an  old  flaw  here,  as  perhaps  you  have  been  told,  which 
keeps  me  out  of  a  property  long  kept  in  the  guardian 
ship  of  the  crown,  and  of  a  barony,  one  of  the  oldest  in 
England.  There  is  an  idea  —  a  tradition  —  a  legend, 
founded,  however,  on  evidence  of  some  weight,  that 
there  is  still  in  existence  the  possibility  of  finding  the 
proof  which  we  need,  to  confirm  our  cause." 

"  I  am  most  happy  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Eldredge,"  said 
Middleton. 

u  But,"  continued  his  host,  u  I  am  bound  to  remem 
ber  and  to  consider  that  for  several  generations  there 
seems  to  have  been  the  same  idea,  and  the  same  ex 
pectation  ;  whereas  nothing  has  ever  come  of  it.  Now, 
among  other  suppositions  —  perhaps  wild  ones — it 
has  occurred  to  me  that  this  testimony,  the  desirable 
proof,  may  exist  on  your  side  of  the  Atlantic ;  for  it 
has  long  enough  been  sought  here  in  vain." 

"  As  I  said  in  our  meeting  in  your  park,  Mr.  El 
dredge,"  replied  Middleton,  "  such  a  suggestion  may 
417 


APPENDIX 

very  possibly  be  true ;  yet  let  me  point  out  that  the 
long  lapse  of  years,  and  the  continual  melting  and  dis 
solving  of  family  institutions,  —  the  consequent  scat 
tering  of  family  documents,  and  the  annihilation  of 
traditions  from  memory,  —  all  conspire  against  its 
probability." 

"  And  yet,  Mr.  Middleton,"  said  his  host,  "  when 
we  talked  together  at  our  first  singular  interview,  you 
made  use  of  an  expression  —  of  one  remarkable  phrase 
—  which  dwelt  upon  my  memory  and  now  recurs 
to  it." 

"  And  what  was  that,  Mr.  Eldredge  ?  "  asked  Mid 
dleton. 

"  You  spoke," replied  his  host, "of  the  Bloody  Foot 
step  reappearing  on  the  threshold  of  the  old  palace  of 

S .  Now  where,  let  me  ask  you,  did  you  ever 

hear  this  strange  name,  which  you  then  spoke,  and 
which  I  have  since  spoken  ? " 

u  From  my  father's  lips,  when  a  child,  in  America," 
responded  Middleton. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Mr.  Eldredge,  in  a  hasty, 
dissatisfied  tone.  "  I  do  not  see  my  way  through  this." 

May  i6tb,  Sunday.  —  Middleton  had  been  put  into 
a  chamber  in  the  oldest  part  of  the  house,  the  furniture 
of  which  was  of  antique  splendor,  well  befitting  to  have 
come  down  for  ages,  well  befitting  the  hospitality  shown 
to  noble  and  even  royal  guests.  It  was  the  same  room 
in  which,  at  his  first  visit  to  the  house,  Middleton's 
attention  had  been  drawn  to  the  cabinet,  which  he  had 
subsequently  remembered  as  the  palatial  residence  in 
which  he  had  harbored  so  many  dreams.  It  still  stood 
in  the  chamber,  making  the  principal  object  in  it,  in- 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

deed  ;  and  when  Middleton  was  left  alone,  he  con 
templated  it  not  without  a  certain  awe,  which  at  the 
same  time  he  felt  to  be  ridiculous.  He  advanced 
towards  it,  and  stood  contemplating  the  mimic  facade, 
wondering  at  the  singular  fact  of  this  piece  of  furniture 
having  been  preserved  in  traditionary  history,  when  so 
much  had  been  forgotten,  —  when  even  the  features 
and  architectural  characteristics  of  the  mansion  in  which 
it  was  merely  a  piece  of  furniture  had  been  forgotten. 
And,  as  he  gazed  at  it,  he  half  thought  himself  an  actor 
in  a  fairy  portal  [tale  ?]  ;  and  would  not  have  been 
surprised  —  at  least,  he  would  have  taken  it  with  the 
composure  of  a  dream  —  if  the  mimic  portal  had  un 
closed,  and  a  form  of  pigmy  majesty  had  appeared 
within,  beckoning  him  to  enter  and  find  the  revelation 
of  what  had  so  long  perplexed  him.  The  key  of  the 
cabinet  was  in  the  lock,  and  knowing  that  it  was  not 
now  the  receptacle  of  anything  in  the  shape  of  family 
papers,  he  threw  it  open  ;  and  there  appeared  the  mosaic 
floor,  the  representation  of  a  stately,  pillared  hall,  with 
the  doors  on  either  side,  opening,  as  would  seem,  into 
various  apartments.  And  here  should  have  stood  the 
visionary  figures  of  his  ancestry,  waiting  to  welcome 
the  descendant  of  their  race,  who  had  so  long  delayed 
his  coming.  After  looking  and  musing  a  considerable 
time,  —  even  till  the  old  clock  from  the  turret  of  the 
house  told  twelve,  —  he  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  and 
went  to  bed.  The  wind  moaned  through  the  an 
cestral  trees  ;  the  old  house  creaked  as  with  ghostly 
footsteps;  the  curtains  of  his  bed  seemed  to  waver. 
He  was  now  at  home;  yes,  he  had  found  his  home,  and 
was  sheltered  at  last  under  the  ancestral  roof  after  all 
419 


APPENDIX 

those  long,  long  wanderings,  —  after  the  little  log- 
built  hut  of  the  early  settlement,  after  the  straight  roof 
of  the  American  house,  after  all  the  many  roofs  of  two 
hundred  years,  here  he  was  at  last  under  the  one  which 
he  had  left,  on  that  fatal  night,  when  the  Bloody  Foot 
step  was  so  mysteriously  impressed  on  the  threshold. 
As  he  drew  nearer  and  nearer  towards  sleep,  it  seemed 
more  and  more  to  him  as  if  he  were  the  very  individual 
—  the  selfsame  one  throughout  the  whole  —  who  had 
done,  seen,  suffered,  all  these  long  toils  and  vicissitudes, 
and  were  now  come  back  to  rest,  and  found  his  weari 
ness  so  great  that  there  could  be  no  rest. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  sleep ;  and  it  may  be  that  his 
dreams  went  on,  and  grew  vivid,  and  perhaps  became 
truer  in  proportion  to  their  vividness.  When  he  awoke 
he  had  a  perception,  an  intuition,  that  he  had  been 
dreaming  about  the  cabinet,  which,  in  his  sleeping  im 
agination,  had  again  assumed  the  magnitude  and  pro 
portions  of  a  stately  mansion,  even  as  he  had  seen  it 
afar  from  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Some  dim  as 
sociations  remained  lingering  behind,  the  dying  shadows 
of  very  vivid  ones  which  had  just  filled  his  mind ;  but 
as  he  looked  at  the  cabinet,  there  was  some  idea  that 
still  seemed  to  come  so  near  his  consciousness  that, 
every  moment,  he  felt  on  the  point  of  grasping  it. 
During  the  process  of  dressing,  he  still  kept  his  eyes 
turned  involuntarily  towards  the  cabinet,  and  at  last  he 
approached  it,  and  looked  within  the  mimic  portal,  still 
endeavoring  to  recollect  what  it  was  that  he  had  heard 
or  dreamed  about  it,  —  what  half-obliterated  remem 
brance  from  childhood,  what  fragmentary  last  night's 
dream  it  was,  that  thus  haunted  him.  It  must  have 
420 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

been  some  association  of  one  or  the  other  nature  that 
led  him  to  press  his  finger  on  one  particular  square  of 
the  mosaic  pavement ;  and  as  he  did  so,  the  thin  plate 
of  polished  marble  slipt  aside.  It  disclosed,  indeed,  no 
hollow  receptacle,  but  only  another  leaf  of  marble,  in 
the  midst  of  which  appeared  to  be  a  keyhole  :  to  this 
Middleton  applied  the  little  antique  key  to  which  we 
have  several  times  alluded,  and  found  it  fit  precisely. 
The  instant  it  was  turned,  the  whole  mimic  floor  of 
the  hall  rose,  by  the  action  of  a  secret  spring,  and  dis 
covered  a  shallow  recess  beneath.  Middleton  looked 
eagerly  in,  and  saw  that  it  contained  documents,  with 
antique  seals  of  wax  appended  ;  he  took  but  one  glance 
at  them,  and  closed  the  receptacle  as  it  was  before. 

Why  did  he  do  so  ?  He  felt  that  there  would  be  a 
meanness  and  wrong  in  inspecting  these  family  papers, 
coming  to  the  knowledge  of  them,  as  he  had,  through 
the  opportunities  offered  by  the  hospitality  of  the  owner 
of  the  estate  ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  did  he  feel  such 
confidence  in  his  host  as  to  make  him  willing  to  trust 
these  papers  in  his  hands,  with  any  certainty  that  they 
would  be  put  to  an  honorable  use.  The  case  was  one 
demanding  consideration,  and  he  put  a  strong  curb 
upon  his  impatient  curiosity,  conscious  that,  at  all 
events,  his  first  impulsive  feeling  was  that  he  ought 
not  to  examine  these  papers  without  the  presence  of 
his  host  or  some  other  authorized  witness.  Had  he 
exercised  any  casuistry  about  the  point,  however,  he 
might  have  argued  that  these  papers,  according  to  all 
appearance,  dated  from  a  period  to  which  his  own 
hereditary  claims  ascended,  and  to  circumstances  in 
which  his  own  rightful  interest  was  as  strong  as  that 
421 


APPENDIX 

of  Mr.  Eldredge.  But  he  had  acted  on  his  first  im 
pulse,  closed  the  secret  receptacle,  and  hastening  his 
toilet  descended  from  his  room  ;  and,  it  being  still  too 
early  for  breakfast,  resolved  to  ramble  about  the  im 
mediate  vicinity  of  the  house.  As  he  passed  the  little 
chapel,  he  heard  within  the  voice  of  the  priest  per 
forming  mass,  and  felt  how  strange  was  this  sign  of 
mediaeval  religion  and  foreign  manners  in  homely 
England. 

As  the  story  looks  now  :  Eldredge,  bred,  and  per 
haps  born,  in  Italy,  and  a  Catholic,  with  views  to  the 
church  before  he  inherited  the  estate,  has  not  the  Eng 
lish  moral  sense  and  simple  honor;  can  scarcely  be 
called  an  Englishman  at  all.  Dark  suspicions  of  past 
crime,  and  of  the  possibility  of  future  crime,  may  be 
thrown  around  him  ;  an  atmosphere  of  doubt  shall 
envelop  him,  though,  as  regards  manners,  he  may  be 
highly  refined.  Middleton  shall  find  in  the  house  a 
priest  ;  and  at  his  first  visit  he  shall  have  seen  a  small 
chapel,  adorned  with  the  richness,  as  to  marbles,  pic 
tures,  and  frescoes,  of  those  that  we  see  in  the 
churches  at  Rome  ;  and  here  the  Catholic  forms  of 
worship  shall  be  kept  up.  Eldredge  shall  have  had  an 
Italian  mother,  and  shall  have  the  personal  character 
istics  of  an  Italian.  There  shall  be  something  sinis 
ter  about  him,  the  more  apparent  when  Middleton's 
visit  draws  to  a  conclusion  ;  and  the  latter  shall  feel 
convinced  that  they  part  in  enmity,  so  far  as  Eldredge 
is  concerned.  He  shall  not  speak  of  his  discovery  in 
the  cabinet. 

May  I Jth,  Monday.  —  Unquestionably,  the  appoint 
ment  of  Middleton  as  minister  to  one  of  the  minor 
422 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

Continental  courts  must  take  place  in  the  interval 
between  Eldredge's  meeting  him  in  the  park  and  his 
inviting  him  to  his  house.  After  Middleton's  appoint 
ment,  the  two  encounter  each  other  at  the  Mayor's 
dinner  in  St.  Mary's  Hall,  and  Eldredge,  startled  at 
meeting  the  vagrant,  as  he  deemed  him,  under  such  a 
character,  remembers  the  hints  of  some  secret  know 
ledge  of  the  family  history,  which  Middleton  had 
thrown  out.  He  endeavors,  both  in  person  and  by 
the  priest,  to  make  out  what  Middleton  really  is,  and 
what  he  knows,  and  what  he  intends;  but  Middleton 
is  on  his  guard,  yet  cannot  help  arousing  Eldredge's 
suspicions  that  he  has  views  upon  the  estate  and  title. 
It  is  possible,  too,  that  Middleton  may  have  come  to 
the  knowledge  —  may  have  had  some  knowledge  — 
of  some  shameful  or  criminal  fact  connected  with 
Mr.  Eldredge's  life  on  the  Continent  ;  the  old  Hos 
pitaller,  possibly,  may  have  told  him  this,  from  some 
secret  malignity  hereafter  to  be  accounted  for.  Sup 
posing  Eldredge  to  attempt  his  murder,  by  poison  for 
instance,  bringing  back  into  modern  life  his  old  he 
reditary  Italian  plots  ;  and  into  English  life  a  sort  of 
crime  which  does  not  belong  to  it, —  which  did  not, 
at  least,  although  at  this  very  period  there  have  been 
fresh  and  numerous  instances  of  it.  There  mi^ht  be 
a  scene  in  which  Middleton  and  Eldredge  come  to  a 
fierce  and  bitter  explanation  ;  for  in  Eldredge's  char 
acter  there  must  be  the  English  surly  boldness  as  well 
as  the  Italian  subtlety  ;  and  here,  Middleton  shall  tell 
him  what  he  knows  of  his  past  character  and  life,  and 
also  what  he  knows  of  his  own  hereditary  claims. 
Eldredge  might  have  committed  a  murder  in  Italy  ; 
423 


APPENDIX 

might  have  been  a  patriot,  and  betrayed  his  friends  to 
death  for  a  bribe,  bearing  another  name  than  his  own 
in  Italy  ;  indeed,  he  might  have  joined  them  only  as 
an  informer.  All  this  he  had  tried  to  sink,  when  he 
came  to  England  in  the  character  of  a  gentleman  of 
ancient  name  and  large  estate.  But  this  infamy  of 
his  previous  character  must  be  foreboded  from  the 
first  by  the  manner  in  which  Eldredge  is  introduced  ; 
and  it  must  make  his  evil  designs  on  Middleton  appear 
natural  and  probable.  It  may  be  that  Middleton  has 
learned  Eldredge's  previous  character,  through  some 
Italian  patriot  who  had  taken  refuge  in  America,  and 
there  become  intimate  with  him  ;  and  it  should  be  a 
piece  of  secret  history,  not  known  to  the  world  in 
general,  so  that  Middleton  might  seem  to  Eldredge 
the  sole  depositary  of  the  secret  then  in  England.  He 
feels  a  necessity  of  getting  rid  of  him  ;  and  thence 
forth  Middleton's  path  lies  always  among  pitfalls;  in 
deed,  the  first  attempt  should  follow  promptly  and 
immediately  on  his  rupture  with  Eldredge.  The  ut 
most  pains  must  be  taken  with  this  incident  to  give  it 
an  air  of  reality  ;  or  else  it  must  be  quite  removed 
out  of  the  sphere  of  reality  by  an  intensified  atmo 
sphere  of  romance.  I  think  the  old  Hospitaller  must 
interfere  to  prevent  the  success  of  this  attempt,  per 
haps  through  the  means  of  Alice. 

The  result  of  Eldredge's  criminal  and  treacherous 
designs  is,  somehow  or  other,  that  he  comes  to  his 
death  ;  and  Middleton  and  Alice  are  left  to  administer 
on  the  remains  of  the  story  ;  perhaps,  the  Mayor 
being  his  friend,  he  may  be  brought  into  play  here. 
The  foreign  ecclesiastic  shall  likewise  come  forward, 
424 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

and  he  shall  prove  to  be  a  man  of  subtile  policy,  per 
haps,  yet  a  man  of  religion  and  honor;  with  a  Jesuit's 
principles,  but  a  Jesuit's  devotion  and  self-sacrifice. 
The  old  Hospitaller  must  die  in  his  bed,  or  some  other 
how  ;  or  perhaps  not  —  we  shall  see.  He  may  just 
as  well  be  left  in  the  Hospital.  Eldredge's  attempt 
on  Middleton  must  be  in  some  way  peculiar  to  Italy, 
and  which  he  shall  have  learned  there  ;  and,  by  the 
way,  at  his  dinner  table  there  shall  be  a  Venice  glass, 
one  of  the  kind  that  were  supposed  to  be  shattered 
when  poison  was  put  into  them.  When  Eldredge 
produces  his  rare  wine,  he  shall  pour  it  into  this,  with 
a  jesting  allusion  to  the  legend.  Perhaps  the  mode 
of  Eldredge's  attempt  on  Aliddleton's  life  shall  be  a 
reproduction  of  the  attempt  made  two  hundred  years 
before;  and  Middleton's  knowledge  of  that  incident 
shall  be  the  means  of  his  salvation.  That  would  be 
a  good  idea  ;  in  fact,  I  think  it  must  be  done  so,  and 
no  otherwise.  It  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  there 'is 
a  taint  of  insanity  in  Eldredge's  blood,  accounting  for 
much  that  is  wild  and  absurd,  at  the  same  time  that  it 
must  be  subtile,  in  his  conduct  ;  one  of  those  perplex 
ing  mad  people,  whose  lunacy  you  are  continually 
mistaking  for  wickedness,  or  vice  versa.  This  shall 
be  the  priest's  explanation  and  apology  for  him,  after 
his  death.  I  wish  I  couid  get  hold  of  the  Newgate, 
Calendar,  the  older  volumes,  or  any  other  book  of 
murders,  —  the  Causes  Celebres,  for  instance.  The 
legendary  murder,  or  attempt  at  it,  will  bring  its  own 
imaginative  probability  with  it,  when  repeated  by  El- 
dredge  ;  and  at  the  same  time  it  will  have  a  dreamlike 
effect  ;  so  that  Middleton  shall  hardly  know  whether 
425 


APPENDIX 

r-he  is  awake  or  not.  This  incident  is  very  essential 
towards  bringing  together  the  past  time  and  the  pre- 
t,  and  the  two  ends  of  the  story. 
May  i8th,  Tuesday.  —  All  down  through  the  ages 
since  Edward  had  disappeared  from  home,  leaving  that 
bloody  footstep  on  the  threshold,  there  had  been  le 
gends  and  strange  stories  of  the  murder  and  the  man 
ner  of  it.  These  legends  differed  very  much  among 
themselves.  According  to  some,  his  brother  had 
awaited  him  there,  and  stabbed  him  on  the  threshold. 
According  to  others,  he  had  been  murdered  in  his 
chamber,  and  dragged  out.  \  third  story  told,  that 
he  was  escaping  with  his  lad)  love,  when  they  were 
overtaken  on  the  threshold,  and  the  young  man  slain. 
It  was  impossible  at  this  distance  of  time  to  ascertain 
which  of  these  legends  was  the  true  one,  or  whether 
either  of  them  had  any  portion  of  truth,  further  than 
that  the  young  man  had  actually  disappeared  from  that 
night,  and  that  it  never  was  certainly  known  to  the 
public  that  any  intelligence  had  ever  afterwards  been 
received  from  him.  Now,  Middleton  may  have  com 
municated  to  Eldredge  the  truth  in  regard  to  the  mat 
ter  ;  as,  for  instance,  that  he  had  stabbed  him  with  a 
certain  dagger  that  was  still  kept  among  the  Curiosities 
of  the  manor  house.  Of  course,  that  will  not  do.  It 
must  be  some  very  ingenious  and  artificially  natural 
thing,  an  artistic  affair  in  its  way,  that  should  strike 
the  fancy  of  such  a  man  as  Eldredge,  and  appear  to 
him  altogether  fit,  mutatis  mutandis,  to  be  applied  to 
his  own  requirements  and  purposes.  I  do  not  at  pre 
sent  see  in  the  least  how  this  is  to  be  wrought  out. 
There  shall  be  everything  to  make  Eldredge  look  with 
426 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

the  utmost  horror  and  alarm  at  any  chance  that  he 
may  be  superseded  and  ousted  from  his  possession  of 
the  estate  ;  for  he  shall  only  recently  have  established 
his  claim  to  it,  tracing  out  his  pedigree,  when  the 
family  was  supposed  to  be  extinct.  And  he  is  come 
to  these  comfortable  quarters  after  a  life  of  poverty, 
uncertainty,  difficulty,  hanging  loose  on  society ;  and 
therefore  he  shall  be  willing  to  risk  soul  and  body 
both,  rather  than  return  to  his  former  state.  Perhaps 
his  daughter  shall  be  introduced  as  a  young  Italian 
girl,  to  whom  Middleton  shall  decide  to  leave  the 
estate. 

On  the  failure  of  his  design,  Eldredge  may  commit 
suicide,  and  be  found  dead  in  the  wood  ;  at  any  rate, 
some  suitable  end  shall  be  contrived,  adapted  to  his 
wants.  This  character  must  not  be  so  representecTas 
to  shut  him  out  completely  from  the  reader's  sympa 
thies  ;  he  shall  have  taste,  sentiment,  even  a  capacity 
for  affection,  nor,  I  think,  ought  he  to  have  any  hatred 
or  bitter  feeling  against  the  man  whom  he  resolves  V^ 
murder.  In  the  closing  scenes,  when  he  thinks  the 
fate  of  Middleton  approaching,  there  might  even  be  a 
certain  tenderness  towards  him,  a  desire  to  make  the 
last  drops  of  life  delightful  ;  if  well  done,  this  would 
produce  a  certain  sort  of  horror,  that  I  do  not  remem 
ber  to  have  seen  effected  in  literature.  Possibly  the^ 
ancient  emigrant  might  be  supposed  to  have  fallen  into 
an  ancient  mine,  down  a  precipice,  into  some  pitfall  ; 
no,  not  so.  Into  a  river  ;  into  a  moat.  As  Middle- 
ton's  pretensions  to  birth  are  not  publicly  known, 
there  will  be  no  reason  why,  at  his  sudden  death,  sus 
picion  should  fix  on  Eldredge  as  the  murderer  ;  and  it 
427 


APPENDIX 

shall  be  his  object  so  to  contrive  his  death  as  that  it 
shall  appear  the  result  of  accident.  Having  failed  in 
effecting  Middleton's  death  by  this  excellent  way,  he 
shall  perhaps  think  that  he  cannot  do  better  than  to 
make  his  own  exit  in  precisely  the  same  manner.  It 
might  be  easy,  and  as  delightful  as  any  death  could  be ; 
no  ugliness  in  it,  no  blood  ;  for  the  Bloody  Footstep 
of  old  times  might  be  the  result  of  the  failure  of  the 
old  plot,  not  of  its  success.  Poison  seems  to  be  the 
only  elegant  method  ;  but  poison  is  vulgar,  and  in 
many  respects  unfit  for  my  purpose.  It  won't  do. 
Whatever  it  may  be,  it  must  not  come  upon  the  reader 
as  a  sudden  and  new  thing,  but  as  one  that  might  have 
been  foreseen  from  afar,  though  he  shall  no*-  actually 
have  foreseen  it  until  it  is  about  to  happen.  It  must 
be  prevented  through  the  agency  of  Alice.  Alice  may 
have  been  an  artist  in  Rome,  and  there  have  known 
Eldredge  and  his  daughter,  and  thus  she  may  have  be 
come  their  guest  in  England  ;  or  he  may  be  patroniz 
ing  her  now  —  at  all  events  she  shall  be  the  friend  of 
the  daughter,  and  shall  have  a  just  appreciation  of  the 
father's  character.  It  shall  be  partly  due  to  her  high 
counsel  that  Middleton  foregoes  his  claim  to  the  es 
tate,  and  prefers  the  life  of  an  American,  with  its  lofty 
possibilities  for  himself  and  his  race,  to  the  position 
of  an  Englishman  of  property  and  title  ;  and  she,  for 
her  part,  shall  choose  the  condition  and  prospects  of 
woman  in  America,  to  the  emptiness  of  the  life  of  a 
woman  of  rank  in  England.  So  they  shall  depart, 
lofty  and  poor,  out  of  the  home  which  might  be  their 
own,  if  they  would  stoop  to  make  it  so.  Possibly  the 
daughter  of  Eldredge  may  be  a  girl  not  yet  in  her 
428 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

teens,  for  whom  Alice  has  the  affection  of  an  elder 
sister. 

It  should  be  a  very  carefully  and  highly  wrought 
scene,  occurring  just  before  Eldredge's  actual  attempt 
on  Middleton's  life,  in  which  all  the  brilliancy  of  his 
character  —  which  shall  before  have  gleamed  upon  the 
reader —  shall  come  out,  with  pathos,  with  wit,  with 
insight,  with  knowledge  of  life.  Middleton  shall  be 
inspired  by  this,  and  shall  vie  with  him  in  exhilaration 
of  spirits;  but  the  ecclesiastic  shall  look  on  with  singu 
lar  attention,  and  some  appearance  of  alarm  ;  and  the 
suspicion  of  Alice  shall  likewise  be  aroused.  The  old 
Hospitaller  may  have  gained  his  situation  partly  by 
proving  himself  a  man  of  the  neighborhood,  by  right 
of  descent  ;  so  that  he,  too,  shall  have  a  hereditary 
claim  to  be  in  the  Romance. 

Eldredge's  own  position  as  a  foreigner  in  the  midst 
of  English  home  life,  insulated  and  dreary,  shall  re 
present  to  Middleton,  in  some  degree,  what  his  own 
would  be,  were  he  to  accept  the  estate.  But  Middle- 
ton  shall  not  come  to  the  decision  to  resign  it,  without 
having  to  repress  a  deep  yearning  for  that  sense  of 
long,  long  rest  in  an  age-consecrated  home,  which  he 
had  felt  so  deeply  to  be  the  happy  lot  of  Englishmen. 
But  this  ought  to  be  rejected,  as  not  belonging  to  his 
country,  nor  to  the  age,  nor  any  longer  possible. 

May  igth,  Wednesday*  —  The  connection  of  the 
old  Hospitaller  with  the  story  is  not  at  all  clear.  He 
is  an  American  by  birth,  but  deriving  his  English  ori 
gin  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  Hospital,  where  he 
has  finally  established  himself.  Some  one  of  his  an 
cestors  may  have  been  somehow  connected  with  the 
429 


APPENDIX 

ancient  portion  of  the  story.  He  has  been  a  friend 
of  Middleton's  father,  who  reposed  entire  confidence 
in  him,  trusting  him  with  all  his  fortune,  which  the 
Hospitaller  risked  in  his  enormous  speculations,  and 
lost  it  all.  His  fame  had  been  great  in  the  financial 
world.  There  were  circumstances  that  made  it  dan 
gerous  for  his  whereabouts  to  be  known,  and  so  he 
had  come  hither  and  found  refuge  in  this  institution, 
where  Middleton  finds  him,  but  does  not  know  who 
he  is.  In  the  vacancy  of  a  mind  formerly  so  active, 
he  has  taken  to  the  study  of  local  antiquities  ;  and 
from  his  former  intimacy  with  Middleton's  father,  he 
has  a  knowledge  of  the  American  part  of  the  story, 
which  he  connects  with  the  English  portion,  disclosed 
by  his  researches  here  ;  so  that  he  is  quite  aware  that 
Middleton  has  claims  to  the  estate,  which  might  be 
urged  successfully  against  the  present  possessor.  He 
is  kindly  disposed  towards  the  son  of  his  friend,  whom 
he  had  so  greatly  injured  ;  but  he  is  now  very  old, 

and .     Middleton  has  been  directed  to  this  old 

man  by  a  friend  in  America,  as  one  likely  to  afford 
him  all  possible  assistance  in  his  researches  ;  and  so 
he  seeks  him  out  and  forms  an  acquaintance  with  him, 
which  the  old  man  encourages  to  a  certain  extent, 
taking  an  evident  interest  in  him,  but  does  not  dis 
close  himself;  nor  does  Middleton  suspect  him  to  be 
an  American.  The  characteristic  life  of  the  Hos 
pital  is  brought  out,  and  the  individual  character  of* 
this  old  man,  vegetating  here  after  an  active  career, 
melancholy  and  miserable  ;  sometimes  torpid  writh  the 
slow  approach  of  utmost  age  ;  sometimes  feeble,  pee 
vish,  wavering;  sometimes  shining  out  with  a  wisdom 

43° 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

resulting  from  originally  bright  faculties,  ripened  by 
experience.  The  character  must  not  be  allowed  to 
get  vague,  but,  with  gleams  of  romance,  must  yet  be 
kept  homely  and  natural  by  little  touches  of  his  daily 
life. 

As  for  Alice,  I  see  no  necessity  for  her  being  any 
wise  related  to  or  connected  with  the  old  Hospitaller. 
As  originally  conceived,  I  think  she  may  be  an  artist 
—  a  sculptress  —  whom  Eldredge  had  known  in  Rome. 
No ;  she  might  be  a  granddaughter  of  the  old  Hospi 
taller,  born  and  bred  in  America,  but  who  had  resided 
two  or  three  years  in  Rome  in  the  study  of  her  art,  and 
have  there  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  Eldredges  and 
have  become  fond  of  the  little  Italian  girl  his  daughter. 
She  has  lodgings  in  the  village,  and  of  course  is  often 
at  the  Hospital,  and  often  at  the  Hall ;  she  makes  busts 
and  little  statues,  and  is  free,  wild,  tender,  proud,  do 
mestic,  strange,  natural,  artistic,  and  has  at  bottom 
the  characteristics  of  the  American  woman,  with  the 
principles  of  the  strong-minded  sect ;  and  Middleton 
shall  be  continually  puzzled  at  meeting  such  a  phe 
nomenon  in  England.  By  and  by,  the  internal  influ 
ence  [evidence?]  of  her  sentiments  (though  there  shall 
be  nothing  to  confirm  it  in  her  manner)  shall  lead  him 
to  charge  her  with  being  an  American. 

Now,  as  to  the  arrangement  of  the  Romance; —  it 
begins  as  an  integral  and  essential  part,  with  my  intro 
duction,  giving  a  pleasant  and  familiar  summary  of  my 
life  in  the  Consulate  at  Liverpool ;  the  strange  species 
of  Americans,  with  strange  purposes,  in  England,  whom 
I  used  to  meet  there  ;  and,  especially,  how  my  country 
men  used  to  be  put  out  of  their  senses  by  the  idea  of 
431 


APPENDIX 

inheritances  of  English  property.  Then  I  shall  par 
ticularly  instance  one  gentleman  who  called  on  me  on 
first  coming  over ;  a  description  of  him  must  be  given, 
with  touches  that  shall  puzzle  the  reader  to  decide 
whether  it  is  not  an  actual  portrait.  And  then  this 
Romance  shall  be  offered,  half  seriously,  as  the  account 
of  the  fortunes  that  he  met  with  in  his  search  for  his 
hereditary  home.  Enough  of  his  ancestral  story  may 
be  given  to  explain  what  is  to  follow  in  the  Romance ; 
or  perhaps  this  may  be  left  to  the  scenes  of  his  inter 
course  with  the  old  Hospitaller. 

The  Romance  proper  opens  with  Middleton's  ar 
rival  at  what  he  has  reason  to  think  is  the  neighborhood 
of  his  ancestral  home,  and  here  he  makes  application 
to  the  old  Hospitaller.  Middleton  shall  be  described 
as  approaching  the  Hospital,  which  shall  be  pretty 
literally  copied  after  Leicester's,  although  the  surround 
ing  village  must  be  on  a  much  smaller  scale,  of  course. 
Much  elaborateness  may  be  given  to  this  portion  of  the 
book.  Middleton  shall  have  assumed  a  plain  dress, 
and  shall  seek  to  make  no  acquaintances  except  that 
of  the  old  Hospitaller;  the  acquaintance  of  Alice  natu 
rally  following.  The  old  Hospitaller  and  he  go  together 
to  the  old  Hall,  where,  as  they  pass  through  the  rooms, 
they  find  that  the  proprietor  is  flitting  like  a  ghost  be 
fore  them  from  chamber  to  chamber  ;  they  catch  his 
reflection  in  a  glass,  etc.,  etc.  When  these  have  been 
wrought  up  sufficiently,  shall  come  the  scene  in  the 
wood,  where  Eldredge  is  seen  yielding  to  the  super 
stition  that  he  has  inherited,  respecting  the  old  secret 
of  the  family,  on  the  discovery  of  which  depends  the 
enforcement  of  his  claim  to  a  title.  All  this  while, 
432 


THE  ANCESTRAL  FOOTSTEP 

Middleton  has  appeared  in  the  character  of  a  man  ot 
no  note  ;  and  now,  through  some  political  change,  not 
necessarily  told,  he  receives  a  packet  addressed  to  him 
as  an  ambassador,  and  containing  a  notice  of  his  ap 
pointment  to  that  dignity.  A  paragraph  in  the  Times 
confirms  the  fact,  and  makes  it  known  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  Middleton  immediately  becomes  an  object  of 
attention  :  the  gentry  call  upon  him;  the  Mayor  of 
the  neighboring  county  town  invites  him  to  dinner, 
which  shall  be  described  with  all  its  antique  formal 
ities.  Here  he  meets  Eldredge,  who  is  surprised,  re 
membering  the  encounter  in  the  wood;  but  passes  it 
all  off,  like  a  man  of  the  world,  makes  his  acquaint 
ance,  and  invites  him  to  the  Hall.  Perhaps  he  may 
make  a  visit  of  some  time  here,  and  become  intimate, 
to  a  certain  degree,  with  all  parties  ;  and  here  things 
shall  ripen  themseives  for  Eldredge's  attempt  upon  his 
life. 

433 


NAT   1 


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